


The Enigma’s Anomaly

by Helena_Hathaway



Series: The Enigma's Anomaly [1]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: ABSOLUTELY GUARANTEED HAPPY ENDING, Accidental Relationship, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Assassination, Assassins & Hitmen, Betrayal, Denial, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Everybody Lives, Funny, Happy Ending, Humor, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mystery, Re-upload, Suspense, Top!Frank, daily update
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-03 11:03:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 70
Words: 147,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1742450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helena_Hathaway/pseuds/Helena_Hathaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank is a skilled assassin. He kills people <em>for a living</em>. He is not meant to fall in love with someone he’s been hired to kill. He’s supposed to just kill the guy and get it over with.</p><p>If that’s the case then why is Gerard Way still alive?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Botched Assassination

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mishasminionmigo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mishasminionmigo/gifts), [DanDreiberg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanDreiberg/gifts), [Sexy_Bread_Tin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sexy_Bread_Tin/gifts), [petemikey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/petemikey/gifts), [Shyrianz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shyrianz/gifts), [stultiloquent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stultiloquent/gifts), [Gloriette_deWentz5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gloriette_deWentz5/gifts), [Bee1002](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bee1002/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [The Enigma’s Anomaly](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2802440) by [JaneFroste](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneFroste/pseuds/JaneFroste), [Peeping_Tom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peeping_Tom/pseuds/Peeping_Tom)



> I deleted this entire thing by accident, but I put it back up, because the story is just that good (way to be modest Helena).
> 
> I gifted this to anyone who left regular comments on here.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things don't always go according to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how this happened actually. It was three in the morning I had oreo ice cream and the first chapter was born. I'm excited though.
> 
> UPDATE: As of December, 2016, a full two and half years after this was originally written, I have begun to edit and revamp the text. Same story, better quality writing.

Some people have this outrageously radical notion that killing people is not a good thing to do. Even worse is a person whose job entails the professional killing of people. Not that I disagree with that opinion, but what can I say? I’m good at what I do.

There aren’t many different career paths for people who are good at being unseen, but luckily, I have great fucking aim. The only other career alternatives for me with that specific skillset are duck hunter and taxi driver, so I think I chose the best path. Or at least, the highest paying, which, in this society, means the best. 

The Beatles had it right when they said Happiness Is A Warm Gun. They were also right when they said I’m A Loser, but let’s not get technical.

Killing people is easy, really, it’s not as hard as people make it out to be. The technicalities of it are the easy part, however the mental repercussions are a whole different story that can corrupt even the most determined of minds. I am a stubborn little shit, and don’t you forget it, but that does not mean I am infallible. Just because I kill people doesn’t mean I like it.

Assassins are a pretty tightknit community. We’ve got a monopoly on the underground, because it’s hard to earn your way in, but once you do, it’s an assurance that you’ll never be forgotten. If you’re one of the greats, there’s a chance you might even get your own Wikipedia page. 

There are some people who might call me pretty famous in my field, because of my expertise. Not only can I kill people, but I can also kill people and be out of there before anyone even registers there’s been a murder, which is highly effective because a guy who lingers around long enough to get caught is definitely not worthy of esteem or praise. What good is an assassin who gets caught? That’s like a talking mime, it’s counterintuitive. I vanish before the victims’ last breath has even been exhaled. I’m like a ghost. That’s why they call me The Enigma. I get in, get my target, and then I get out. It’s that simple. 

I’ve never even had a close encounter with a cop, but I’m sure they know of me, by reputation. Infamy is a heavy load. Word gets around when you’re as talented an assassin as I am. There’s probably some high security clearance file about me buried in some stuffy official’s desk drawer somewhere, and if you’re not a file in the desk of an old white guy, then really, what does your life amount to? Love, family, awards, art? They don’t mean shit compared to a file that says you once shot a guy from over 2000 yards away.

I like being in the limelight, sure, but I like the way “The Enigma” rolls off the tongue, because my alternative isn’t all that threatening. No one is intimidated by _Frank_. Besides, everyone wants a cool superhero name. It’s just a shame that my moniker is not used to describe a hero, but rather a villain.

The Enigma is a highly sought after assassin. I’m like the Starbucks of assassins. I’m slightly too expensive, a little bit of a guilty pleasure, and something you probably don’t want to admit to buying, but people love my work anyway.

I’ve just been hired on a new job, and by the looks of it it’ll be a piece of cake. It’s child’s play. 

The guy doesn’t even have a security on him, like come on? Can he get more killable? 

When I’d first seen the name, I wasn’t too surprised that I knew who he was. Most people who get assassinated are in the public eye to some extent or another. Either that or they’re a cheating spouse. The life expectancy of a cheating spouse of a famous person, however, is lower than that of a guy in a red shirt on Star Trek. 

Of course I know who this guy is, everyone in the city knows who this guy is, but that doesn’t stop me from taking the job. Money is money, right? He’s some modestly famous comic book artist who’s been in the paper a bit recently for his new series. I haven’t seen any of his work, but I know of the guy. I don’t understand why a comic book artist would have a target on his back, but it’s not my place to ask questions. I’m sure there’s a scandal that needs covering up, there always is.

My primary specialty is murder in broad daylight. People come to me when they want a messy scene that’s very public. That’s how you know it’s hatred, because you don’t ask a guy to kill someone in public if you don’t want people to know they were hated.

There are guys whose thing is to make it look accidental, or to make it look like natural causes. There are guys whose thing is to make it messy. I’m the guy you call when you want the public to know there’s been a murder.

I want to get one thing straight, though. I do not, have never, and will never, enjoy murdering people. Murdering people makes me sick to my stomach, and there’s very few things in this world I’d less rather do than shoot someone. 

What I do enjoy is having enough money to pay my rent. You go where the money takes you. I like being able to pay the bills, and if my cost of living is someone else’s life, then it’s something that I just have to live with. 

I know I’m not a good person, but I never claimed to be. 

The way people contact me is strictly on a need to know basis, and you, dear reader, do not need to know, so mind your own business. My contact information is known only to a select few, and I work by spread of word. If you’re lucky, you’ll never have to hear “The Enigma” come up in conversation. 

I do my business discreetly. No one sees my face, no one hears my voice, and no one knows when I’m going to strike. It would be hard to keep up my reputation if people actually knew who I was. I would never get hired again if people knew that this “Enigma” fellow is actually a 5’6 guy who moonlights as a pickpocket.

Likewise, I usually don’t even know the identity of the client. They don’t really like to reveal themselves. I get it, though, if I were going to hire a guy to murder someone, I probably wouldn’t want to give that person enough information that they can just give it to a cop. My client never sees me, and I never see them, and that’s the way I like it. 

Make no mistake, though, if someone hires me to kill you, then you will die. I have never let a target go, and I’ve never gotten caught. And I don’t intend to do either.

I always start with the upfront half of my payment, and if I’m lucky, I’ll receive some of the details the client has on the target. I’ll receive the rest of the money when the deed has been done. Unfortunately, I don’t get much information on the guy, but it’s nothing I can’t figure out for myself. 

I look down at the photograph I received, a shoddily taken paparazzi-style picture, and without the name, I immediately recognize the man on the page. It’s the one and only, Gerard Way. I’ve killed people of high status before, but never really taken down someone of actual fame. Mostly just politicians or business executives. There’s a difference between killing big business men and killing celebrities, though he’s only a B-list or lower on the scale of fame.

It’s a pretty standard hit. My client has of course declined to give me a name, but that’s common in my line of work. I assume it’s a man, because it’s always a fucking man. Women aren’t that idiotic, if they have a problem with someone, they’re better at finding ways to deal with it. Men are just lazy, they’ll kill anything that doesn’t agree with them. 

It’s just past four o’clock when I climb onto the roof of the building I chose for the shot. People have started to make their way back home from work, or they’re going to pick up their kids at school. 

I’ve been tailing Gerard Way for the two days prior, enough to get a good feel for his schedule. He should be walking to his apartment sometime in the next ten minutes. It’s a Friday evening so everyone is excited to get back to their respective homes.

I wonder what Gerard Way is thinking right now. Probably what he’s going to have for dinner, or what show he’s going to watch when he gets home. Maybe he’s thinking about his weekend plans. He won’t have any of that in a few minutes. All Gerard Way has ahead of him is a funeral and a depressed community of comic book nerds.

I see him as soon as he turns down the street. He’s on foot as is everyone else.

He’s easy to spot because of his hair, which is a bright mane of wildfire red. It’s not in my hit instructions, but I would totally tap that. I’m not looking into getting him laid though, because I was hired to get him buried in the dirt.

Looks like no one’s ever going to see the next issue of his comic.

It’s almost too easy. I see him walking down the road, plastic grocery bags in his hands. I scoff at that, because he uses plastic bags instead of something recyclable? I might be doing mother earth a favor by taking this guy out.

I’m already in position on my rooftop, and I center him in my focal plane. I then aim the heavy gun carefully, right at his head. His red hair is so bright you won’t even be able to tell the difference between blood and hair.

I let the gun follow his profile and decide to get him while he’s between two security cameras. How’s that for a public assassination? It’ll be caught on camera. I might get paid extra for that, though I won’t count on it.

My finger nudges the trigger, and a quiet bang fills the area. This particular gun is one of my favorites because of how quiet it is. It’s not silent, but you’d never know it’s a gun if you don’t know what to expect. 

I watch the man just as I make the shot, looking away from the scope so that I can see him with my own eyes as the bullet darts towards him.

The bullet finds its way across the street quickly, and I gasp. I see the glass pane of a shop shatter behind him, but he doesn’t fall. Gerard Way jumps and looks at the broken glass behind him, and I can tell he’s alarmed, but he’s in one piece. His hand rushes to his ear and I watch him dumbfounded for a few seconds before registering what’s happened.

I missed.

How could I have missed when it was so easy? The red headed man looks at the glass, and into the shop like he’s searching for something, and I take a moment too long considering my next move.

Some stupid pedestrian has started screaming and I can hear it from all the way up here. That’s a typical reaction to things like this, because it’s pretty obvious what just happened. Someone just tried to shoot something, and now they’re all freaking out about it like a bunch of fucking babies.

It doesn’t help how dramatic shattering glass is, because if I’d hit a brick wall, people would just think a very forceful Pidgeon committed suicide, but now there’s a mess, and people are screaming, it’s a real shit show. 

I don’t have any other choice but to pack the gun up, and get the hell out of dodge. I can’t take another shot while everyone on the street is in a panic. I might have been able to try again had I not aimed at him while he was in front of a window, but I’m a fucking drama queen who thought more about the cameras than the possibility that I’d miss.

There’s at least a few dozen people on the street now and they all look hyperaware of everything, so a guy on a rooftop is going to definitely arouse suspicion. I break the gun apart quickly and stuff into my backpack. I’m young enough to pull off a college student, so the small bag is a good cover. 

I hurry off the rooftop, and down the stairs. I scouted this specific building because it’s down the block from where Gerard Way lives, and there are no cameras on the stairwell or roof. All I had to do was steal a key card from one of the residents and I was in. Apparently getting in was the easy part, when it’s usually the other way around. 

I rush down the stairs quickly and walk onto the street, which has become a mess of hysteria since I was on the roof. I keep a glock in my inner pocket, so as soon as I’m amidst the crowd I lock my sight on the target, but there’s no chance. I’m not going to be able to get him in this mess. I have the risk of harming a civilian and I don’t want to do that. I’ve never taken an innocent person without a contract and I don’t intend to start now.

It looks like he’s going to live for another day. I join the swarm of people looking at the broken window to make myself seem out of the ordinary, and I can tell that they know what’s happened. Someone found the bullet already. I would tell them that they’re contaminating a crime scene, but I’m not against it. The more dust they kick up the better for me, not like I’ve ever even left a fingerprint behind.

I look at my target one more time before turning away down the street. Gerard Way looks petrified with his eyes darting between the rooftops of buildings. He has no idea what he’s looking for, but I think I’ve instilled fear in him. He’s looking for me, he just doesn’t know it. I smirk at this and walk down the street adjacent to this one.

I’m a little baffled at how I missed, though. I assume he just twitched his head or something, but I can’t be sure. I was so close, and I grazed him, I’m positive about that. I saw the way he was gripping his ear, and I’m certain the bullet made contact with the very corner of the cartilage. He might get an infection which will be kind of painful but he’ll be dead soon anyway, so it’s not too bad. Death heals all wounds… kind of.

I try not to let myself get too caught up on it, though. It was a simple mistake and it won’t happen again. It won’t hurt my reputation as long as he’s gone before tomorrow’s dusk.

I know I won’t be able to try again today, because he’s sure to be lead into a police station very soon, and he might get a security detail put on him, but even then, I can still get to him. There are many moments in a day where a person is vulnerable. If he goes out to take a smoking break, I can get him. If he goes to the park, or heads to a convenience store, or even if he stands too near a window. There’s only a few places in this world where a person can ever be truly safe, and I assure you that there isn’t a single spot like that in New York City.

Gerard Way will soon be informed that he was the intended target of a sniper attack and that will make him paranoid. Paranoid is a good place to keep your prey because it makes them fidgety, and scared. I’m not one to play with my food, but I can charge extra for the fear he was given in his final days.

I’ll take him out tomorrow. Whenever I can, wherever. I might want to switch to a handgun this time, though, but I don’t have too big of a problem with that. It’s more personal, and you have to see the light drain from their eyes, but it’s more accurate. It’s not fun to watch someone’s life slip away, and I hate it, but a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.

He has one day more on earth. Call it a Christmas present. Tomorrow he’ll be someone else’s problem. Tonight, he can dream, and cower, but tomorrow he’ll be cold as ice and paler then he already is, which is saying something.

Gerard Way is an anomaly in my data, though. I’ve never missed a target. I’ve got a pretty good record for killing with only one shot, occasionally it’ll take two to get the job done, but I’ve never let someone walk because I missed. I’ve just never let it happen, but something about this shot was so surprising to me. It was too easy. Way too easy. And I missed. I don’t know how I could’ve missed, but that’s what haunts me. 

It’s just a minor anomaly, though. It can still be rectified.


	2. The Second Try

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> History repeats itself.

I look at the computer screen in front of me, watching the cursor blink and blink. It doesn’t come easy to me, admitting defeat. I don’t like to admit that I can make mistakes. Everyone likes to pretend their perfect. For me, it’s quite a bit higher stakes. There’s a man out there who should be dead, and he’s not. This is a matter that the universe simply cannot let slip without repercussions. 

I send a quick message to my client, sighing. I don’t want to go too into it with them, so I just tell them it’s being handled. I will handle it, it won’t take long. 

I turn in my chair to look at the bulletin board which takes up a large section of my apartment. With every new hit, I cover the bulletin board, kind of as a dedication. I’m hoping that one of these days I’ll look into the eyes of the victim and their humanity, their purity, will get to me, preventing me from killing them. Something in their face will stop me from doing the thing that rips my soul into pieces. It hasn’t happened yet.

The reasons I kill aren’t very good ones. I need an income. I need some way to keep myself afloat. But I’m not really worth it, and I know that. But it doesn’t change things. 

The money I makes goes to my small one bedroom apartment. It’s small, and isn’t exactly on the safe side of town, but it’s home. The kitchen and living room are only separated by a small counter, and the front door enters directly into the kitchen. You can’t open the refrigerator and have the front door open at the same time because it was poorly designed. The kitchen, like everything else, is kept almost spotless. I’m always ready to have guests over, but none ever come. 

There’s a small couch in the living room, a black faux leather, that looks much newer then it is, because it’s hardly ever in use. My TV is incredibly old, deep and bulky because I don’t care enough to replace it. It makes a deep, gasping sound every time it turns on, like an old man having an asthma attack. It’s one of those homely sorts of sounds that you’d miss if it ever went away. To be honest, I don’t watch a lot of TV, I don’t have a lot of joy in life, and it probably has something to do with the fact that I’m a murderer. I only ever watch crime shows, just to pick up on any tricks that their criminals use. It’s not accurate, and I wouldn’t pretend it is but it can be informative to a certain extent. 

I guess I’m a bit of a sentimentalist. I keep all the files of the people I’ve killed under a floorboard I carved out in the living room, along with my various guns, which is stupid and dangerous, but it’s my own way of honoring them. A lot of them might have been good people, but I did what I did. I guess you could say I’m The Enigma’s biggest fan because I know of every single one of his hits. All thirty-six. Soon to be thirty-seven.

I bet the cops don’t know about all of them. You know what they say about New York City cops. They ain’t too smart. I’ve never even worried about them, I guess I’m just that good. They’ve never come knocking. I might invite them if they did. It’s no secret that I’m a fucking monster.

I get a message back not long after I sent my own that’s very to the point. “Get it done.” There’s nothing more than that, but I suppose there doesn’t need to be. They hired me for a service, and I haven’t fulfilled my end. 

That poor Gerard Way. He’s particularly good looking so it seems a shame to get rid of him, but I have my job, and I can’t turn it down at this point. It’s far too late. I wish I’d known what he looked like before I’d taken the job. Not like it means much of anything, but he’s got such a great face, and it’ll go to waste, literally. Wasting away in some cemetery somewhere, a place which I’ll probably visit someday and apologize. 

We all have to pay our rent somehow.

I used to go to their funerals, but it became too hard after a little while. I would watch the mascara tears pouring down the faces of their loved ones, and I felt like shit. I deserved it too, I know I did, but it was hard. They would give the most amazing eulogies, ones that would make me realize what kind of a person the world had lost, and it’s heartbreaking. Those were good people.

There’s an obvious question that needs to be asked. How could a person live with themselves after killing so many people? The truth is that I have no choice. It’s a hard game to get out of. I’ve been in it for two, almost three years now, and it pays good money. I could survive a month off of just one hit, because people pay good money when they want someone dead. It’s a well-paying field, if you’re good enough not to get caught. Is it worth the cost of your humanity, though? Now that’s a question I’ve yet to answer. 

I look at the board of Gerard Way. I have report cards, and newspaper clippings about him, as well as photographs I took while following him. He was terrible at math in high school. His teachers used to complain about him doodling in the margins, little did they know that those doodles would one day earn him a living. 

He has a simple schedule which hasn’t been hard to figure out, but tomorrow will be weekend, and I haven’t followed him on the weekend, so I only have the word of my client to go by. 

I sigh and look at the photo of the redhead. His hair suits him. It’s an ostentatious color, and fits perfectly with his job as a comic cook writer, considering he looks like one of his own characters. His eyes are beautiful, but the bags beneath them tell a story just as much as the eyes themselves. He’s a workaholic. He’s also a perfectionist. He doesn’t get enough sleep, works long hours into the night making sure everything is perfect, and then when he wakes up the next morning and it’s not perfect enough. If I weren’t a criminal I might have a promising career as a detective.

I sigh when I look at that picture, but turn away from it, turning off the light. I need to get some sleep before tomorrow, the day Gerard Way dies. 

~*~*~*~

My alarm goes off far earlier then I would like to wake up, which is to say, any hour in the day. I pull the bed sheets away anyway and attempt to rub the sleep out of my eyes. I’m tired but I have to get an early start on today if I’m going to find a time to get Gerard Way.

I don’t know when I’m going to get at him today, but I’m not going to be able to snipe him if the cops yellow taped the rooftops, which I suspect they did. They know someone wants Gerard Way dead, and criminals don’t usually tend to give up after just one try. They know his life is still in danger.

I’ll have to use a handgun, so I grab my 9mm and load the barrel carefully. I keep the safety on, then set it on my bed to go take a shower. I take longer in the shower than is entirely necessary, but the day seems dark and gloomy before me and I want to start it feeling somewhat positive. I’ve done this over thirty times now, and yet every time it still feels like a funeral procession. 

Eventually, I have to step out, being hit by the unwelcoming cold air of the world outside the shower. I dry my hair off, and dress, putting on one of my work jackets, which is just any with inner pockets. I tuck the gun away into the pocket, adjusting it to make sure it’s imperceptible to the eye, then walk into my small living room.

It’s about ten when I leave my apartment and make my way down the steps, onto the road, which is bustling with cars, and cokeheads. I catch a bus that’s going into the part of town where Gerard Way lives, which is of course a rather swanky place, because the guys a celebrity and gets paid too much. I make sure to get off a stop before the closest one to his apartment, even though no one’s going to suspect what I’m up to. I get paranoid about doing these things, because it’s harder to connect me to anything if I’m further from it.

I know where his office is, and I know where his usual coffee shop is as well. I know where his apartment is, his regular convenience store, grocery store, and the route he takes to get to all of them. I know everything about him. I wish I didn’t.

When I took the job, my client gave me a timid outline of his usual activities and schedule. According to the information, Saturday’s are when he visits a brother who also lives in town. He usually wakes up around noon, not even remotely an early riser, which is a benefit of being famous, I suppose. I check my watch to note that I’m an hour early, but that means I’m late. I don’t know if the schedule is accurate, so really, I should’ve been here hours ago, just to make sure he doesn’t pass by.

I need somewhere to stakeout his building, and there’s a small diner across from his apartment which will do the trick. I check my wallet, to make sure I have enough cash to pay for a coffee, and then I head over to the street corner where he’ll be. Obviously, I have to pay with cash because credit leaves a trail that can be followed. I also have to make sure I order something so it’s not strange that I sit in the restaurant for an extended period of time. Though, breakfast rush on a Saturday with a cup of coffee and a newspaper is not a particularly unbelievable occurrence. 

I take a seat near the exit, which is also against the window, so I can look out. I order a coffee, pay upfront, grab myself a newspaper, and settle in for the long haul.

It’s not the front page, but a small headline does catch my eye. _‘Attempted Murder of New York Based Artist.’_ Interesting, it’s a true wonder who they could be talking about, I smile to myself.

It’s rather quick to be reported, though. I can’t believe they found a story in that. To be fair, it’s not much of a story, just a few sentences, with very little detail, mostly a fluff piece to fit in a space that needed filling. I read the story carefully just to be sure.

_“Up and coming comic book artist, Gerard Way, was shot at from a rooftop yesterday afternoon. No update yet on whether or not he was the intended target, but it is believed that this was the work of a paid hitman. Both the police and Mr. Way have neglected to comment.”_

Looks like I got them scared at least. From what I’ve been able to tell by evaluating him, I highly doubt that Gerard Way would have any form of security on him, he’s not famous enough. He’s famous enough that you’ll get a few listings when you Google his name, but beyond that, the guy isn’t much to see. 

I wait for about forty-five minutes before I see Gerard leave his apartment. He’s wearing a dark trapper hat, probably to cover up his siren of a head, but I spot him quickly anyway. It’s easy when you know what to look for. It’s not quite cold enough to need the hat, but everyone is just settling in to the new spring weather so it’s not exceptionally weird either.

He definitely appears agitated, very fidgety, which is to be expected. He was shot at yesterday, and even if he believes it was a fluke, anyone would be nervous being out and about after a trauma like that. 

I exit the restaurant leisurely and start following him, a little way behind him. I stay on the other side of the street for a little while as he walks in front of me, I don’t want my stalking to be obvious. I do know where his brother lives, though I’m not familiar with his name, so I know how long a walk I have to get to him.

His brother lives about fifteen minutes away, and if all goes to plan, his life won’t exceed that length of time. I remember to thank heavens that Gerard Way decided to carry on with his normal schedule, otherwise this would be so much more difficult.

I wait for a minute and then cross to the other side of the street, to walk in tandem, a few yards behind him. I look around at the street signs to notice I lost track of time, because we’re only five minutes away.

I have to think fast on my feet, and decide to employ a tactic I learned when I was first starting out.

I know where he’s going, and I’m familiar with the area of the destination, so I walk right out in front of him, passing him swiftly. He doesn’t notice me of course, but I sprint forward to ahead of him. I glance backwards at him to see if he’s noticed me, but his head is down at the moment, so I take the opportunity to dart into an alley between two buildings. It’s a dirty, grimy, New York alley. There’s a dumpster to hide me, and no cameras to catch me. It’s perfect.

I check my watch and count the seconds down until he appears in front of me.

I’m only going to have one shot, and a very small window of availability, but I can do this. I’m a good shot, and from this close range, it’s a piece of cake. The alley even has another entrance behind me, so I’ll be able to run away before anyone notices my presence. The area is so quiet at this time of day, that I’ll probably already be a few blocks away before anyone will notice him.

He should be walking past in about five seconds if I timed things correctly. I rest my arm on the top of the dumpster for some balance, careful not to actually touch it, and then take aim with the gun to wait out the last torturous seconds.

Then I see him. I’m a bit taken aback, because there’s a woman beside him who wasn’t there before. He obviously doesn’t know this woman, based on his body language, and she’s obviously just in the wrong place at the wrong time, because she’s standing at the exact angle that makes him unreachable to me.

I breathe firmly and have a moment of excitement when I notice that I’ve caught a lucky break. This woman walks at a much faster pace than Gerard Way does. Just before he’s blocked by the wall, his head is briefly unobscured by the woman’s and I shoot before giving it a second thought. I don’t have enough time to make sure my aim is spot on, given the woman’s presence having screwed me up, so as soon as the bullet leaves the barrel I know I’ve missed.

I don’t think, I just run. I don’t have enough time to dwell on the fact that I missed again, because he’s not going to stay disheveled for long, so I run down the alley, stowing my pistol away as I do, and then leap out the other side.

As soon as I’m on the new street I slow down my pace, because running will draw more attention to me than walking.

I take a few deep breaths, and look around at the fast-paced world around me. It sinks in after a couple of seconds what happened. I can’t believe I missed again! How could I have missed? This is wrong. This is impossible. I cannot wrap my head around it. One anomaly is something, but _two_? 

I don’t _miss_. I don’t miss ever. This is like being struck by lightning twice in the same twenty-four hours. I can’t believe I missed twice in that time. I don’t miss. I never miss. How is this possible?

Maybe it’s a mental block I got when I missed him the first time. It could be the yips. I must’ve just been so worked up about the first miss that I subconsciously sabotaged the second one as well. It’s definitely a total accident, a freak of nature. That has to be it. It’s just a mental booboo. I can’t believe it though, it’s mortifying. It’s embarrassing, even.

I’ve never missed a target _once_ , not even my first hit, and the same target has escaped me twice! Maybe it’s the target himself. Maybe I’m missing because some part of my unconscious brain doesn’t want him dead. I shake that idea off quickly, because that’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard. I’ve killed thirty-six people who I didn’t particularly want dead, so one more isn’t going to all of a sudden change me.

I don’t know what to do now, though. I can’t just try again. Two failed assassination attempts is not a coincidence. The cops will now know that someone wants him dead. They’re going to start to put protection on him, and he probably won’t be able to deny it this time. I won’t be able to try again tomorrow, or even the next day, it’s too dangerous. I’ve messed up my own self, and I don’t know what to do now.

He’s escaped me more than once, so it looks like I’m going to have to wait now, which is sure to be tedious. The money won’t be worth it, but my reputation is on the line here, so he needs to fucking die. This could completely ruin my reputation, which I have worked so hard to build up, and that’s what frightens me the most. 

I’m The Enigma, I don’t miss! What if people hear about me missing twice? I have no clue what to do now. I know one thing for sure is that Gerard Way can no longer have a public death. It’s going to have to be a secluded attack, or it won’t happen at all. My expertise isn’t really secluded, but it’s easier. It may piss my client off that people won’t see him suffer, but the guy will still die. 

It can’t be within the week though, because he’s going to have protection. It’s simply going to be too risky. I need to make sure that when he dies, I am kept as far away from it as possible. Despite the fact that I know I deserve it, I do want to escape prison. I want to avoid being caught. I’ll surely be put on death row; some people might even classify me as a serial killer. The jury won’t stand in my favor, that’s for sure. I’m not, I don’t find any pleasure in it, it’s not for my own sake. It’s not even something I enjoy, like some other assassins. For me, it’s just a job. 

I have to change my strategy for this one. I’m going to have to get close, otherwise I won’t be able to get to him. It’ll have to be way closer than my comfort level, close enough that he’ll trust me alone. I need to be far enough away from him, though, that the police won’t connect me to him.

I’m going to have to go undercover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do we think so far?


	3. First Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank becomes a journalist.

Let’s just say I know how to pull some strings. I have connections who have connections. It’s safe to say that I can pose undercover in just about any field. The best one I can see with my circumstances is someone who will tail Gerard Way on a regular basis, at least for a little while. Someone disposable but someone who he’ll trust.

It’s kind of belittling that this specific connection I have to call is a college friend. A totally clean college friend, who’s probably never even seen a gun. We became friends because we had a few classes together, but I don’t like to think of those days. It’s safe to say that my English major has not really been put to good use.

I make a call to said friend who works at some cliché celebrity magazine. He pulls a few strings and guess who is now assigned to write an article on a New York comic book artist? I’m actually going to have to write the damn article unfortunately, but it’ll be exciting because I’m going to get the opportunity to write about his life and death. Obituary style. Exciting. He won’t know I’m writing about his death of course, but I just need to get close. It would be too suspicious if I never finished the article after his death though.

It’s actually sort of a trial piece. As my friend puts it, they’ll hire me for real to work at the magazine if my work is good enough, but I’m obviously not actually going to accept the job.

All I have to do is write a story for One-Stop magazine and I’ll get that dead body. I’ve never read the magazine myself, but people are always gushing about the way it keeps up with pop culture. I don’t care, I just have to commit a murder. I don’t care what celebrity is having what other celebrity’s baby I just have to put a bullet through some guy’s chest.

My friend calls whomever it concerns to set things up, and I’m scheduled to meet with Gerard Way a little over a week after the second assassination attempt. The second one didn’t make the papers, but I’m sure everyone of importance knows what happened.

It’s Monday when I make my way down to his office, because apparently comic book artists need offices. I’m not one to judge.

The building is kind of small and only has two floors, but it’s a shared office with a few different companies in it. I follow the signs until I come across a private section with only two other offices heading off of it. It’s not large or interesting, just sort of plain and boring, but there’s a woman sitting at a small desk who I see as soon as I enter the room. I can make out the plaques on the two doors, one says Way, and the other says Schechter.

“May I help you?” The woman at the desk says. She’s a mousy girl, somewhere in her early thirties, and she looks fidgety.

“Yeah, I’m um, Frank. I’m meant to write an article on-“

“Oh yes, I remember your people calling,” she says looking down at a datebook on her desk. There’s a small plaque on her desk as well that’s a little more indecisive because all it says is ‘assistant’.

He has an assistant? Kind of a swanky thing for a simple artist to have. The way she looks at me and acts though makes me guess that she’s very new. Probably hired within the last few days.

“He’s not in the office right now, but you can find him at the coffee shop around the corner.”

“Oh thanks,” I say, and wave at her before walking back the way I came.

I walk down the hall then out the door and see the coffee shop she was referring to so I walk over to it and grab the handle.

Once I’m inside I scan the heads and faces of the people inside to see a flamboyant haired guy in the corner, nowhere near the window. At least he’s learned something from the past few days. He was probably told to stay away from windows by the cops.

I walk over to him and stand beside his table tentatively.

“Excuse me, um, are you Gerard Way?” I ask and I undertake my new persona. I’m still Frank, but I’m going to be fake Frank. The Frank that people think I am, and not the coldblooded murderer I really am.

“What? Oh yeah, I am. Why?” He asks and he looks flustered, but he allows me to approach him and looks up at me. He’s leaning over a sketchbook so it’s a working lunch apparently. He looks far too comfortable at his table though. Maybe he’s one of those people who does all their work at little coffee shops like this.

“Hello I’m Frank, it’s nice to meet you. I’m the guy writing that article on you for One-Stop magazine,” I say phishing for his understanding.

He looks amazing up close, I don’t even want to take my eyes off of him. I can’t quite decide if he’s pale or not, but I’d go with yes, and his hair is expressive as hell. It’s a little messy and I can tell he’s run his hands through it several times in the past few minutes. His eyes are what catch my attention the most though, because I didn’t even know that brown came in that color. Hazel and deep, and I’m sure if you catch them in the right lighting they’d be greenish.

“Oh right, yeah. I nearly forgot about that with everything that’s been going on,” He says looking disheveled, and he runs his hands though his hair again, but it looks like he’s trying to fix it. He fails miserably and the highlighter hair gets even more untidy.

“How do you mean?” I ask, even though I totally know what he’s referring to.

“Um, it’s nothing, never mind,” He says.

“Oh I’m sorry, are you talking about that whole shooting debacle?” I ask. I’m playing a role here, and a person who is writing an article for a magazine, would probably be a person who reads the papers and what not. It’s not exactly top secret information anyway.

“You heard about that?”

“I’m a journalist,” I answer.

“Oh yeah, I guess you would know then,” He answers. “Shit sorry! You can sit down. Sorry, I forgot to, um, yeah.”

I chuckle to myself at his awkwardness, but I do sit down across from him and he looks up at me nervously. He is one awkward son of a bitch, because he looks baffled by my very presence.

He’s fidgety and doesn’t seem to have a good control of his limbs so he’s kind of gangly in a dorky way. He must have some motor control though if he’s an artist. You need a steady hand for things like that. I need a steady hand too but it does nothing if you don’t have a good control on your adrenaline.

“Well how about we start there then? A shooting would make for an interesting story,” I say, hearing my own voice and it makes me want to punch myself. I sound dry and rude, like all I want to do is gossip.

“ _Shootings_ actually,” he corrects. He has no clue he’s talking to the guy who tried to shoot him and I find that whimsical.

“There was more than one?” I ask.

“Two, but the second one wasn’t made public.”

“Oh god I’m so sorry to hear about that. And I don’t mean to pry, sir. I’m just trying to write an interesting piece.”

“Do not call me sir, ugh,” he says and he grimaces, “It’s just Gerard.”

“Sorry,” I say and I smile. It’s convincing apparently because he smiles back and brushes a hair way from his face. That was really cute. Who could want this guy dead? He’s adorable.

The way he bites his lip nervously makes me want to put his lips to better use, but whoa there I can’t think about my target like that.

“Frank, right?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” I really hope I’m making a good first impression.

“Okay, Frank. Are you sure you want to write an article on me? Especially seeing as someone tried to kill me. I don’t want to get hurt myself, but I’d really really hate for someone else to get hurt because of me.”

I scramble for a good reason and settle on feeding him the truth. Sort of the truth, I mean.

I sigh and say, “well, um, to be completely honest with you, I’m not actually a journalist quite yet. I want to be, but I have to write a good article before that happens, so I’m aiming high. I have this one chance, and I’m willing to risk it.”

“Okay, I see. That’s a lot of weight on me to be interesting enough though, isn’t it?”

“I think you can handle it. Besides, I’m sure you’re super interesting,” I say with a smile. I think I just flirted. I did not mean to flirt, but there it was, that was flirting. Whoops.

Yep, I was flirting because Gerard blushes. I want to take the poor kid out of his misery right here and now, but I can’t risk it at a coffee shop with witnesses who will attest to me being there. Unfortunately the cost of messing up twice means that I have to get him alone.

“So what do you want to know then? Is it like a really long article or what?” He asks. “I only ask because I really am very boring.”

“I’m not sure yet. I don’t know where this article is going to take me but I was given a few pages so it’s fairly large,” I answer. I don’t want him to think I’m only interested in the shootings because that seems suspicious. I also need as much time as I can get.

“Right well, you asked about that whole sniper thing, but I’m not sure what I can say on the matter. You know as little as I do,” Gerard says. That’s not exactly true, but I’m going to leave that out.

“Well do you know why?” I ask. I would actually be interested to learn who wants him dead, because I don’t even know. I’m just the middle man.

“No, but it’s scary,” he answers. I’m sure it is.

He continues, “I don’t know what I did, but apparently it’s enough to kill over. I’m not really supposed to be leaving my apartment, but I have to get my work done and I can’t get it done in a stuffy place like that.”

“Well it’s been a week, I’m sure you’re safe now.”

Gerard shrugs, “I don’t know. I’m not sure we should talk about this though, because I might get in trouble with the police.”

Yeah me too. For different reasons.

“Oh right, sorry,” I say. I’m saying sorry too much. “Do you want to tell me about the comic book then?”

Asking him that sends him into talkative overdrive. I can barely keep up with him, but I have to take fucking notes or I won’t be able to write the damn article. He sure can talk. He’s so passionate about this thing though, I admire that. If I were so passionate about anything than I’d probably be as boisterous as him.

The thing I pick up on most is that he tends to talk with his hands. He makes gestures for everything, and the fact that he’s already got an awkward control on his body makes it a tad bit amusing. With the amount of talking he does with his hands though, I’m pretty sure he’s not the straightest guy in the world.

He talks about who some of the characters are based on and I start to wish I’d read the damn thing, but I nod along and he doesn’t seem to notice how lost I am. The villain is based on some corporate businessman, and the city it all takes place in is based on some city in New Jersey. He looks animated while he talks. His personality is as fiery as his hair would suggest. What a shame it will be to eliminate him.

“Oh god I’m ranting. I’m so sorry,” he says, and he looks completely embarrassed by how much he’s been talking. He brings his hands to his face and tries to rub at his temples.

“Well the point of my talking with you is to get information for the article,” I say.

“God, you’re right. I must sound like a total idiot to you though,” Gerard says and he brushes another strand of hair out of his face. I don’t know if I want to hug him or what.

“I think it’s kind of cute how passionate you are.” Oh shit, I just flirted again. I also start to wonder what else he’s passionate about, but I steer my mind away from that treacherous thought. I really need to get laid if I’m actually thinking about a soon-to-be-dead guy like this.

“So when is this article thing due?” Gerard asks.

“You make it sound like a homework assignment,” I joke. “I have about a month to finish it, so if it’s okay, I’d like to follow you around for a week or two?”

“Oh god, you’re going to be bored out of your mind,” Gerard says, “but sure, sounds good.”

“Great,” I answer and I bite my own lip. My lip ring clicks between my teeth and I feel like a kid, sitting here ogling at this hot dork.

“So I guess we’ll be spending a lot of time together, I’m glad you’re not a jerk then,” Gerard says and then turns a pink color because of what he said. He has no idea though.

I’ve almost never made contact with someone I was assigned to kill before, and certainly never had a conversation this long. I hope I can take him down soon so that I don’t develop a friendship or anything. That would suck. I’d get over it obviously, but I really don’t want to have to see the look on his face when he realizes I’m the one trying to kill him.

I already don’t like imagining him finding out. He’ll only ever find out in his last few seconds of life if he even does find out, but it’s a sad prospect. It might be best to do it quick and painless, with his back turned to me so that he never has time to figure out it’s me.

I’m too empathetic for this undercover business. I do not want to have to do this again. I wouldn’t last as a PI or any of that shit.

It becomes clear to me after a few more minutes with him that I would totally ask him out if the circumstances were different. No word on whether he’d say yes, but he is easily embarrassed by any compliments I give him and there’s the whole hand gesture thing. Yeah, he’d probably say yes, but I’m not going to think about that, or what that implies.

I hate that he’s making me laugh. This shit is stupid, I have to put these ideas to rest. I am so not meant for undercover work, I get attached too easily! He’s distracting me with his words and faces and everything.

So not meant for undercover shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helena likes comments almost as much as she likes Tom Hiddleston! (Almost).


	4. Opportunity Knocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank gets his chance.

I need to get him alone. _Alone_. Why is he never alone?

The first day goes by quickly and leads into the second where he sticks to the routine of lounging about in the coffee shop. I arrive around eleven and see him sitting there still with his back turned to me.

I walk over to Gerard and instead of taking the seat across from him I grab the seat to his right so that I can get a little closer. He might start to trust me more if I come off as friendly, and if he trusts me more, he’s more likely to be alone with me at some point.

“Hey, Frank!” he says and looks at me brightly. Well at least he remembered my name. I look at his hair which is sticking up in odd places and I want to run my hand through it or something. He’s got such a soothing personality that I don’t even find it hard to pretend I like spending time with him. I’m not even pretending, he’s just an honestly sweet person. A little eccentric, but sweet.

He’s got an unhealthy attachment to coffee so that he probably can’t function without it, but I think it’s cute. I also think the way he laughs is cute. The way he puts his whole body into the act, and it’s kind of high pitched, but contagious.

We talk for a little while and I get lost.

“You can’t have always known you wanted to be a comic book artist, though,” I say. I’m so far wrapped up in conversation with him now that I completely forget he’s a target. I don’t have friends, not in my line of work, so it’s refreshing to get to talk to someone. Especially someone like him who makes it easy to have a conversation.

“Yeah, I wanted to be Han Solo,” Gerard answers nodding. It looks like he’s reminiscing and I laugh at his goofy expression.

“Who the fuck doesn’t want to be Han Solo?”

“Valid point,” he answers, “Seriously, though! That guy is so cool. Nifty spaceship, and a bunch of awesome weapons and shit. I’d sell my left foot to be him.”

“Or maybe an arm,” I say, admiring my own reference. “You would also have a Wookie and a hot chick.”

“Not really my style,” he says with a shrug, “though Wookie’s are pretty cool.”

Yeah, he’s not straight. Not surprising. Heterosexuals aren’t that articulate. Good to know. If I meet him in the afterlife I’ll be sure to give him my number. I kind of hope that that won’t be for a while on my end, which is a hypocritical thing to hope for.

“So what did you want to be?” He asks.

“Me? God, I don’t know. I wanted to be in a band,” I conclude.

“That’s universal too!”

I guess he’s right. Everyone is kind of cliché when they’re younger. Bands, celebrities, firefighters. We’ve all been there. Though I decide to leave out my childhood dream of becoming a cheerleader. Some things just shouldn’t be said out loud.

“But seriously, comics? Did you always like art then?”

“Yeah,” he says genuinely, “some of my older stuff is shit though, I can’t believe I’m actually partially successful.”

“Older stuff? I bet it’s great. What about the original drafts of this comic? What’s different about the official comic book compared to the older ideas?”

“Mainly the characterization. I hadn’t solidified a lot of the personalities. Like the villain, who was kind of mundane in drafting, but he’s fucking twisted now.”

“Ah, well the best villains always are,” I answer.

Am I the villain to Gerard’s story? I don’t necessarily think so. I’m not the one who wants him dead after all. It makes me feel pretty wretched though. Am I a bad person for carrying out this deed? That’s a little iffier, because I could easily turn in the information I have to the cops. I don’t like thinking about my morals like that though. It only makes me feel bad. It’s an inescapable fact that I do bad things, but if I let that get to me, or if I let what I do become who I am, then I’ll never sleep again.

My smile twitches a little thinking about that, but I recover swiftly.

“Do you have some of the drafts? I would love to see how this stuff all comes together!” I say. I’m actually kind of interested in his work, but maybe he keeps that stuff somewhere else. Somewhere private perhaps.

“Uh, I left some of the other sketches back at my office, if you want to come with me I can show you some of them,” Gerard says. That sounds like ample opportunity to get him alone.

“Um, yeah I definitely want to see them,” I answer, and smile at him. I hope I don’t look mischievous or murderous or anything.

“Alright, come along Frank,” Gerard says and he looks excited. I watch him stand up and then jump up to follow behind him. I feel kind of bad for taking advantage of his gullibility like this, but at the same time I need some cash. I’m running a little low, and I do need this payday.

“Why do you even have an office if you don’t use it?” I ask him as we walk down the street. It’s windy, so the hair blows into Gerard’s face, and mine does as well. His hair looks odd in the wind, but it frames his face gorgeously.

He looks tremendously uneasy being out in the open. I want to tell him he’s got nothing to worry about for at least another five minutes, but I decide against it.

There are too many people on the streets because it’s lunch hour rush to get a clear shot, but he still looks scared.

“I, um, I just have it. I don’t know, makes me feel more professional,” he shrugs. His eyes are darting from one rooftop to another. It sucks to see him like this. I want to be able to squeeze him and tell him no one’s going to hurt him, but I’m the one who’s going to hurt him.

How would I feel if I were him?

No, Frank, don’t think like that. Don’t even dare.

“Are you, um, are you okay?”

“What? I’m just a little on edge, cause...”

“Oh god yeah, I’m sorry,” I want to hold his hand or something. Give him a cookie. Maybe a beer or some sedatives.

“It’s... can we just walk faster?” Gerard asks.

He’s only rushing his own death, but I understand why he’s paranoid. I can’t fathom to think about what I’d be like in his shoes. Probably a weeping mess under my desk in a bulletproof cage. I’m totally fine on the other end of the gun, but I do not want to be the one standing in front of a bullet.

We make it to the office hastily because Gerard speed walks. I am short, so I have a little trouble following, but I catch up after he enters the building. It’s still as dingy as it was when I was here yesterday, and the lights are in dire need of replacement, but it’s all fine. If all goes to plan, I won’t need to be here ever again.

I’m really hoping that the assistant is gone right now. I wouldn’t be surprised because it’s about the time when she might take a lunch break, but I just hope this can all be over and done with. I don’t want to allow myself to become anymore acquainted with Gerard.

I thank whatever deity is watching over me, because there is no mousy assistant in sight. There’s a carpet in sore need of a vacuuming, and some bland wallpaper, but no humans.

“Whose office is that?” I ask pointing to the other door that says ‘Schechter.’

“My publisher. He’s in LA at a conference right now,” Gerard says. Today must be my lucky day. I can’t believe how well this is all panning out.

My heart rate starts to quicken as Gerard opens the door and I realize that it’s go time. I only spent a day and a half with him, but like I said I’m a sentimentalist. I get easily attached. I don’t overly want to do this, because my emotions understand the implications of what I’m about to do, but I’m not a quitter.

Gerard’s office is small, but decent. It looks relatively unused, with a desk in the middle of the room that has no scratches or color stains so he definitely doesn’t use it regularly. There’s a filing cabinet to one side and a few framed pictures of his comic book on the walls. I don’t know how many issues there even are.

I make it a point to remember to buy them after he’s gone. Out of respect. It’s only fair that I know who he is and who I killed. It might be kind of sad, but he’s the kind of person who deserves mourning.

He tells me to hang on a minute and walks over to the filing cabinet against the back wall.

It doesn’t take much to get him to turn his back to me and I reach into my pocket quickly to grab the gun from my jacket. I keep it hidden under the fabric just in case he turns around, but I can easily set up my aim from this angle. It’s going to be sad to see this guy go. I don’t fire immediately because I want to hear him ramble about whatever it is he’s talking about just one last time. His voice is pleasant, and I want to remember it.

He’s going to look so scared, which sucks. Poor Gerard. I really wish things were different between us. I really wish that I could not shoot him and say I did. There’s really no point to that, though. People would know.

I just hope he looks peaceful in the coffin. To achieve that, I decide to aim a little lower then. I don’t really want him to have a bullet hole in his skull because that would be horribly unflattering. His ego would be tarnished.

I watch him riffle through a stack of papers but he’s looking a little disheveled and he’s not managing to find the right folder in the filing cabinet.

I take the gun off of safety and sigh sadly. My heart rate is still accelerated so I decide to steady myself and do a silent countdown for him.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, had to do it.
> 
> Comment?


	5. So Fucked.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To put it bluntly: Frank is so fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay awkward chapter to write. You'll see why. Super awkward.

The door opens and I jump in surprise.

Satan is probably laughing at me. Fuck him.

I’m glad I kept it hidden under my jacket because I easily put the pistol back into my jacket without Gerard noticing.

I don’t turn around immediately because I’m too busy swearing at the heavens. Gerard turns quickly though, just as suddenly as the door had opened. Couldn’t whomever it is have knocked? I thank god that I didn’t shoot Gerard while someone was just outside though. That would have been bad.

I remember to turn and look to see who it is, though I expect for it to be the assistant. It’s not her though.

It’s a guy, for one thing, and his height makes me feel like a dwarf. He’s fucking attractive though. He’s blond, it looks bleached. He’s frowning, and he doesn’t look like the kind of guy that smiles a lot. He has a pretty sharp looking face. You could slice bread on his cheek bones.

I should probably say something because now I’m just standing looking at him.

“Oh hey Mikey,” Gerard says, “what’re you doing here?”

Using my master powers of intuition I guess that this guy is named Mikey. I know, I’m a real Sherlock Holmes.

“Uh... who’s this?”

“This is Frank,” Gerard says, “He’s a journalist.”

“Journalist?” Mikey asks looking down at me. I don’t like being short enough to look down on. He’s probably taller than Gerard, but I can’t be sure since I haven’t really seen Gerard on his feet all that much.

“He’s writing about me,” Gerard says and I turn to look at him. He’s smiling like the fucking dork that he is.

“You? You’re not interesting in the slightest. Who’d read anything about you?”

I look back at the Mikey fellow and he looks so stern. I’m sure he’s kidding, but I don’t see a hint of a smile on his face.

“Oh, sorry Frank. This is my brother, Mikey,” Gerard says. “He’s an ass.”

“Thanks for the love,” Mikey says. Huh, he kind of looks like Gerard. Not overly, but I see it now that I know they’re related. Same nose, and forehead structure. Not as cute as Gerard though.

Gerard answers, “Yeah yeah. Why are you here?”

“Because you’re an idiot who forgot that we were supposed to meet up for lunch today.”

I look back to Gerard who walks over to stand next to me and he makes a face, “I did forget didn’t I?”

“Well you’re dumbass, I’m not surprised.”

I wish Gerard knew how ironic it is that Mikey just saved his life. This tall lanky bastard is the only reason Gerard’s breathing.

I suppose that I could kill them both, but that doesn’t seem fair. That’s an unneeded death. I don’t want to do that, because Mikey didn’t do anything. Probably. Besides I can’t imagine how hard that would be on their family. One death is already pretty hard, I couldn’t take two of them.

“We can still go,” Gerard says checking his watch. “Frank, you should come with.”

What’s the point? I’m not going to be able to kill him with his brother right there.

“No, I’ll-“

“I insist,” Gerard says, “unless you have somewhere else you need to be?”

“No I just don’t want to intrude or-“

And again with the interrupting, “You wouldn’t be. Might keep me from killing Mikey.”

Yeah, and Mikey’s going to keep me from killing you, you little fucker. Why does he want me to come though? He must be way too nice, because there’s no possible reason for him to want to hang out with me.

“Come on, Frankie, please?”

Jesus fucking Christ did he just call me Frankie? I usually punch people in the face for doing that. I actually have swung at a few guys for that nickname. Why does it sound nice when Gerard says it?

No. No, this cannot be happening. I cannot let Gerard call me Frankie and get to me like that. He cannot have nicknames for me and I can’t for him either. He cannot be anything more than a target. That’s that.

“No, I can’t go.”

“Are you sure? Why not?”

“Just... ugh, I have to be somewhere. I’m gonna go,” I say, and I sound angry. I don’t meant to sound like that, but I cannot get close to Gerard. I can’t.

I awkwardly nudge past Mikey, who shifts to allow me to leave, and I walk out the door. That wasn’t embarrassing at all. And by ‘not at all’ I mean a shit-ton of embarrassment.

I can’t get close to him, though. I can’t risk being caught onto by instigating a friendship. He would agree if he understood our circumstances.

If you were to ask me, it’s better to be shot point blank by someone you don’t know rather than someone you know well. When it’s someone you know, it’s called betrayal, and that’s about a hundred times worse. It’s like being stabbed in the heart only worse because you die emotionally before you die physically.

I don’t want to become close enough to Gerard for it to be considered betrayal. Where I stand right now is much better. We’re nothing more than acquaintances, and he’s known me for a day and half. That’s not betrayal. I don’t think.

I float off in the direction of my home and barely process what I’m doing until I collapse on my couch. I feel miserable today. I hate this all. I hate that I don’t hate Gerard.

I don’t want to be in this situation anymore. I want to put the undercover work to bed and kill him. Speaking of bed...

I’m feeling way too tired considering how much sleep I got. I want to just wash all this emotion away. I decide that that’s a good idea and get ready to take a shower. Maybe by washing up, I can wash the feeling away.

After a minute of undressing I take a look at myself in the mirror and sigh. I’m not really the typical looking contract killer. Generally people would like for their paid murderer to be able to ride a rollercoaster. I look at myself and see the beginnings of vague bags under my eyes, but I disregard them.

For a moment I eye my ink as well. I rub my hand against the scorpion crawling up my neck before groaning and stepping into the little glass box of a shower.

It’s relaxing to melt after today. I don’t know why it’s getting to me so much. I was so close though. So close. I could’ve just taken that shot, but then where would I be? A jail cell probably. Maybe it’s a good thing that I didn’t get to take the shot.

Maybe it’s a sign from the universe that I shouldn’t kill Gerard.

Naaaaaaaah.

I wash my hair quickly and keep thinking about how close I was. I had him alone. I had Gerard alone and I still didn’t get to kill him.

There are a few other things I’d like to do to him while alone. Oh god no I can’t be thinking those things! I keep reminding myself and yet it never seems to compute. He’s off limits! Why doesn’t my brain get that message?

Still, I feel a little light headed thinking about him. Wait, I know that feeling.

I look down and confirm my suspicion. Yeah, that’s not good. Please don’t let that be Gerard’s fault.

I sort of have a hard on. Not good.

How can it be Gerard’s fault though? I barely know the dude. He’s just a really dorky guy who likes comics. Okay sure he’s hot, with his messy hair and his dimples. His little nose, pale skin, high-pitched laugh, small little upturned smile, and the way he uses his hands to talk.

Oh shit.

I can’t believe this, no way. No way... or well actually ‘No Way.’

I have to make this thought go away. This is insane. He’s just a guy. Just a random, good looking dude. He’s no one special.

I picture his red hair and his smile and oh god it’s not going away. This can’t be happening.

I decide the best thing to do is to just... to just freaking roll with it. I grasp myself and I can’t even keep that stupid motherfucker out of my head. He won’t go away, which is making this so much worse. In fact, Gerard is the only person I can picture, and I can’t believe what I’m doing right now.

At least I’m in the shower I guess. Thinking about Gerard makes my heart race, a little bit out of guilt and also something else, but I’m not sure what.

It doesn’t really sink in what’s happening until I literally cum onto my hand.

Oh my god what did I just do? Shit! I cannot believe this. I’ve known Gerard for a day. _A day_. I cannot have feelings for him, that’s crazy.

I just completely jerked off thinking about Gerard. This is not happening.

I can’t believe this. How did I let myself do this? This is messed up. I’m not supposed to like him let alone be attracted to him. I’m supposed to crush him, not _have_ a crush on him.

How did I end up being this hopeless? What the fuck is so special about Gerard Way that made me attach myself to him? Why does someone want him killed? What the hell is wrong with the universe?

Maybe this is what I get for my past. Some fucking dick up in the sky is laughing down at me like I’m a bad game of Sims.

After a minute I come to a decisive conclusion.

I am so fucked.

Okay, I’m so fucked!

So so so so fucked.

I am FUCKED.

Fucking fucked.

 _So_ Fucked.

How fucked am I? So.

In other words: Frank Iero is incredibly screwed.

In French: Je suis tellement baisé

Now once in Romanian: Sunt atât de futut

In a song: Totally Fucked from Spring Awakening.

A haiku:  
I am so damn fucked  
Time for me to self-destruct  
Because I am fucked

Now to summarize: I. Am. So. Fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment?


	6. Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Falling, falling, falling.

“So uh, you were a little angry yesterday,” Gerard says, looking at me.

“Was I? Sorry, I just... sorry.”

“And you lied a little bit.”

“Oh, um, sorry. God, I keep saying that, sorry. Shit! You know what I mean,” I say.

“Frank, do you dislike me or something? Are you afraid of all this shit that’s happening with me, because-“

“No, that’s not it. I’m just an awkward person, I don’t meant to come off as rude.”

“It’s okay, I think it’s endearing,” he says. Does that mean he thinks of me as a friend? I brush that thought away.

I try to look at him, but it’s really hard to look him in the eye after yesterday. I am so ashamed, and at the same time really attracted to him and I can’t help it. I barely know him, but there’s just _something_ there. I’ve never felt like I wanted to be with someone because of who they are before. Not to this extent at least. Sure Gerard is hot and sexy but I really like him.

I like the way he drifts off when he’s talking about things and starts rambling about things that have nothing to do with the topic. I like the way he smiles when he’s talking to me, and I like the way he taps his fingers on the table when he’s concentrating really hard. I want to tell him how adorable he is when he’s smiles widely and how the way he tucks his hair behind his ear makes me crazy. I hate not hating him, but I like liking him.

He doesn’t make sense to me. He’s my anomaly.

~*~*~*~

After a week of tailing him, I haven’t gotten a second opportunity to kill him. When I tried to get him alone at the office, his assistant was right outside. When I tried to get him into a dark alley there was already someone in there. Nothing seems to be working. I can’t find any time to get him alone. A whole week and I can’t get him to just die already.

One week becomes two. He’s never alone, and I’m starting to realize that I’m not just the journalist interviewing him anymore. I’m his friend. He’s my friend. He’s actually my friend. I see him every day and he makes the whole day bright. It doesn’t make sense. Why is he so pretty?

I know for a fact that he considers me a friend now though. He actually said it. He said specifically, and I quote, “You’re a really amazing person Frank. I’m glad you and I met because I haven’t had a friend as nice as you in forever.”

How does one get over something like that?

I ask for an extension from my client, but I don’t get a reply. It’s been so long since I got this job. Almost three weeks. I had to take a different job, just a quick one, but it paid well enough for me to be able to pay rent with a little left over.

My 36 does become a 37 but it’s not Gerard’s blood that lands me there. It’s some drug lord, so I don’t necessarily feel guilty about killing him. If this particular job didn’t pay twice the amount of my usual work I’d just throw it away, but I have that money to look forward to, and I can’t do anything to hurt my reputation. I just can’t. A reputation is all a man has.

I _have_ to kill Gerard.

I’ve known him for a grand total of 16 days, and find myself still sitting in the same coffee shop. He’s got me mesmerized in his words. I forget to write things down sometimes. I just want to watch him. I want to listen to him forever. I want to hear him at all hours of the day. I want to... I don’t know, kiss him?

“You can’t possibly be interested in what I’m saying,” Gerard interrupts his own words and he looks guilty.

“What? No! Go on.”

I keep biting my lip when I’m around him, and I don’t know why. I never really do that, but for some reason I pick up the habit in his company. He mimics my lip biting every once in a while and I start to wonder if I’m the one copying him.

“You’re just being nice,” Gerard says.

I roll my eyes and put my hand over his on the table, “trust me, I think you’re fascinating.”

The instant my skin touches his, I feel a jolt of electricity and my heart stammers. I look down at my hand and remove it quickly feeling a little surprised at what I did.

“So what influences you? Like for your comic and shit?” I ask him.

“Um, I don’t know. I keep forgetting that you’re a journalist,” He says. Oh no, he really does think of me as a friend. Not good. That’s really not good. There are a lot of things about this predicament that are very not good. This counts as one of those things. Two weeks ago is a good example. I still can’t believe what happened. I also can’t believe that I did it a few times afterwards. Gerard’s just so magical though.

I always try to send the thoughts away, but I cannot help myself. I like him. It’s too late to deny that. He needs to go ASAP, or I will do something stupid. I can’t keep him around if he’s detrimental to my mission.

“I guess just things that I like? Music, movies?”

“What else? What about people?”

“Everybody has an influence. Just little things about everyone. Cute little quirks and stuff,” he says. If I didn’t know better I’d say he looked at me especially deeply while he said that. What am I fucking teenage girl? I am so hopelessly attracted to him, it’s not even funny.

“So, uh, what are you doing later tonight?” he asks.

Wait, what did he just ask? No way.

“What?”

“I, there’s, um, I have this fundraiser thing to attend tonight would you want to come, maybe?” He asks.

“What?” I repeat, I’m a little dumbfounded by his question.

He turns bright red and I think he realizes how that sounded because he quickly corrects, “I mean like to see what it’s like in my field. With other artists and stuff. It’s like a charity dinner thing. I have a plus one and I was just thinking... for your article.”

Oh my god he’s so awkward. I giggle a little bit, and I realize I’m just as awkward. I’m an experienced killer I should not get so excited by charity dinners with guys with radish colored hair!

“Sure that would be really cool,” I say and I blush. I fucking blush. He made me blush.

“Great. Its black tie so if you need to borrow clothes from me-“

“No it’s fine, I’m covered. Besides I think I’m a bit too short to borrow anything of yours,” I answer and my face feels heated. I cannot believe that he made me blush.

I am so fucked, though. Where am I going to be able to hide a gun in a suit? Especially if there’s a metal detector involved which there very well might be. I guess the answer could be that I not bring a gun at all.

What would the point of going be then? If I don’t bring a gun, purely out of precaution, than I have no opportunity to kill him. Well I suppose there will be steak knives or something. No. No way, I cannot slit his throat. For one thing throat slitting is not my MO, and for another I’ve never actually done that.

It’s too personal. You get in real close when you use a knife. There’s so much more intent. You have to invade a person's personal space and you have to physically dig a weapon into their skin. You have to feel it pierce the skin and you have to physically feel yourself take a life away. I can’t do that to a stranger let alone Gerard.

I can’t kill him with a knife. I’m also having trouble killing him with a gun.

“Maybe... maybe I shouldn’t come,” I say.

He puts his hand on top of mine and I feel that electricity again that makes my heart stutter.

“Please?”

I can’t say no. I just can’t. Not to those puppy dog eyes.

“Okay, alright.”

Without a gun what does it make this? Without a pen and paper either?

A date maybe?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just curious, what are you guys' theories on who's trying to kill Gerard? I already know, but I really want to know what you think? I won't confirm or deny anything though.


	7. How Could This Happen To Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank compares his life to a song by Simple Plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Current playlist: Muse. I think I’ve listened to “Citizen Erased” thirty times in the last two days. The way it goes from one ear bud to another though?!?!?!? Fucking beautiful. (FYI "Origin of Symmetry" is my favorite album ever by ANY band and if you do not own it then you are missing out). Also “Follow Me” is underrated.

Gerard looks like a fucking dork in a tux. I look like a fucking dork in a tux. Everyone is just a fucking dork today.

I’ve decided that this is not a date. It’s just a meet up at a very fancy place with a really good looking dude, where I’m just a neutral plus one. It’s being held in some sort of convention room/ restaurant. I don’t know what the right word is.

Gerard looks really annoyed the moment I spot him, but he lights up when he sees me. He’s standing outside his office and I get a cab from my apartment to meet with him. His clothes look starchy and stiff like the ensemble has been hanging in a closet for three years, which is actually quite likely.

I honestly think it’s pretty cute on him. He looks out of place, but I like it.

“Wow, you look...” Gerard says, but he doesn’t finish his sentence. I hope he wasn’t going to say ‘stupid’ or ‘ugly.’

Gerard tells me that where we’re headed is not far from the office and he starts walking with myself behind him. He’s not as fidgety this time around, as it’s been two weeks, and it’s nighttime. As a master marksman even I have trouble sniping at night so he wouldn’t have much to worry about anyway. Obviously I’m not packing, but he doesn’t know that.

The street is dark already, it’s pushing eight o’clock, but there are plenty of cars passing by us. I watch him as we walk along the pavement. I don’t try to I just can’t help it. He looks so magnificent, and unpretentious.

I think about holding his hand. I would just take it and feel his warm palm against mine. My sweaty fingers mingling with his, while I try to prevent myself from shaking. The feeling of his thumb stroking across my purlicue. The way I’d try to hide the little smile I’d get just because of the feeling of his hand. I would lean against him and let his warmth exude into me. My hand would almost slip out of his because I’d be so nervous and he’d just grip it tighter so that I can’t let go.

I would never runaway if he didn’t want me to. I would stay with him, and I’d keep him safe from people who want to hurt him. I’d keep him away from harm and danger. I’d keep him away from people like... like me.

The thought washes away and it’s replaced with a grim acceptance of this situation. I can never have that with Gerard. I can never have a life with Gerard, not the way I would want to. He wouldn’t be safe with me there, an assassin. He’d be in harm’s way, and he’s already in harm’s way. I’m his harm, but that seems so unfathomable.

I’m not holding his hand though. I’m not holding him, and I’m not even touching him. My life is the songs ‘On My Own’ from Les Miserables and ‘Untitled’ by Simple Plan on repeat. I can’t stand this loneliness of knowing his inevitable downfall. I can’t stand not knowing who I am, but most of all I can’t stand knowing he can never be with me.

Gerard points to a building ahead of us that’s a solid white and has a large number of windows. I’m actually not sure if the building is more window or wall. I think it’s a museum of some sort, but it’s not being used for that reason today. I think that it would be a rather beautiful place to hold a wedding ceremony or something.

As soon as we get into the building I feel out of place. Everyone is stuffy or old looking and I’m a tiny little guy with tattoos. These people around me are the kind of people who would be offended if someone so much as said the word ‘damn.’ Damn is a no-no word. So is hella.

I am hella lost in this damn setting.

There are some day’s when you want to climb up on a table and start screaming obscenities at people just to see their reaction, and today is one of those days for me. I decide not to do that though.

I hover around Gerard for a while until I can’t stand being so cramped amidst all the stuffy rich people. I envy the way they all make money by doing nothing. That would be so much more fun that having to work. Fewer moral problems as well.

A lot of them are authors, of the book variety, but most of them are just wannabe heiresses and the likes. Maybe one out of five people in here have worked for money in their life.

I escape the cluster of people when I see the option and then quietly watch Gerard walk around the room trying to avoid conversation. I can tell he’s trying to get away from the center of the room and over to the sidelines, but he keeps getting stopped by people who he’s forced to greet cordially. He’ll shake a hand, have a five minute conversation, get away, and then someone else will pounce on him. It’s actually quite amusing, and I laugh at his constant conversational attacks.

He’s far too polite to shove people away so it takes almost twenty minutes for him to actually get out of the throng of people.

Gerard walks over to me next to a large monolithic pillar. The column itself looks right out of a Greek myth. He groans apathetically as soon as he sees me.

“I am so sick of all these stale old people,” he says, looking desperate.

I laugh at his statement and look at him nervously. I don’t really know what to say here. For the first time since we met, I’m with Gerard just to be with him. I’m not even looking for an opportunity to shoot him. I didn’t even bring a gun. It’s so weird without a gun with me. It’s like I’m naked.

I can’t believe I’m at a party with someone I’m supposed to kill. It feels a little sad knowing that I’m going to have to kill him. It feels wrong, somehow. I know I only befriended him so that I could get close to him and kill him, but it feels like I’m abusing his trust. I _am_ abusing his trust obviously, but I shouldn’t be worked up over that.

“Want to go get a drink?” I ask, and he nods fervently. We walk over to the open bar and I look at the little area. It’s a gorgeous building, and a gorgeous room. The wall that the bar is against is solid and has a lot of shelves, but right next to it on either side are two wall to wall windows. I can see out into the night, and the city lights. There are cars flooding the streets, only one story below us, and it’s calming to see that.

“So what do you think?” He asks, after accepting his drink, but I just get a coke for myself.

“It’s fancy,” I say in a playful voice and he scrunches his nose.

“It’s not really my scene either,” he answers.

“Because you prefer hipster coffee shops,” I tease.

“Damn right,” he answers and smiles back at me. We’re near the end of the bar, with a long row of stools, but neither of us has sat down. We’re just leaning against the bar, casually, and I can’t deny that I’m a little astounded by how beautiful he is. The ambiance of the room makes it fairly light, but just so that he appears radiant.

If this were anyone else I would kiss him or something, but it’s not. It’s Gerard, the guy I have to kill. I’m still not capable of wrapping my head around the thought of Gerard being dead. It doesn’t seem possible or even plausible.

He’s just so full of life and he’s just so sweet and nice. He’s too polite for his own good. Who could he have pissed off enough to have landed a vendetta against?

Gerard isn’t the kind of guy to piss people off for the sake of it, and he’s not the kind of person to say mean things about someone. He’s also really awkward so I find it unlikely that he’s hiding any illegal activity under that little mop of red hair.

“What’s the point of all this, anyway?”

“Beats me. Publicity? I don’t know at all,” Gerard shrugs.

“At least there’s free food,” I answer. He giggles, and my heart feels like it’s exploding because that was the most adorable sound I’ve ever heard.

I want to just make out with him so much it hurts. It’s getting out of hand how much I like him. I don’t get crushes! I’m attracted to a whole slew of people, sure, but I don’t want to date them or anything I just want to have sex with them. Sex is only one of the many, many, many things I want to do with Gerard. I kind of want his future unborn adopted babies.

I bite my lip again because of his effect on me and turn to look at him. It’s then that I notice the small little red mark on Gerard’s chest, right over his heart. It looks like a laser pointer and I’m baffled by it for all of a moment before I realize what the little dot is.

I’m sure I look like an idiot doing this, but as soon as it clicks in my brain, my inner instinct kicks in.

“Oh my god, Gerard. Get down!” I scream, and he looks confused for a moment before I literally grab him and pull him to the floor. Not a second later there’s a loud sound of something very large shattering and I look over to the ice sculpture in the middle of the room which essentially explodes.

Obviously I understand what that means because it’s my very profession, but other people look completely stunned by the ice breaking, seemingly for no reason. I recognize the almost inaudible sound of a bullet darting through a high-end glass window. I know its high-end because the glass doesn’t break, but there will definitely be a small hole in the glass, about the size of a bullet.

Gerard and I are safely stowed under the counter of the bar, but Gerard looks far past surprised. His mouth is open and his eyes are wide. His hair is a little messy, and his suit askew from being manhandled, but he’s unharmed.

He’s looking first at me and then at the broken sculpture, then back. A group of people have made a clearing to look at the shattered ice.

Someone cries out in pain and I look at the small circle of people, one of whom is clutching his shoulder. There was only one bullet so it must have been a pretty damn forceful gun to have gone through a window, break an ice sculpture, and lodge itself into a person.

Two things become clear to me in this moment. The first is that someone just tried to kill Gerard. That person had impeccable aim because he should’ve gotten Gerard. Only a skilled assassin, like myself, could’ve made that shot.

The other thing that becomes clear is that Gerard is still alive. I just saved Gerard’s life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Telepathic hugs to those who leave comments or who give kudos.


	8. Gerard's Savior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hug!

“You saved my life,” Gerard says looking void of any emotion, but shock.

“I guess?” I say, just as alarmed as him. I’m the one trying to kill him, I can’t believe I just _saved_ him.

“How did you...?”

“I mean, I saw the laser thing and I just, I don’t know, guessed?”

He looks vacant for another few moments before shaking his head to gather his brain cells and then he looks directly at me.

I feel his eyes piercing into me and that’s when he quickly attacks me into a hug. He leans in too quick for me to even process it, and then wraps his arms around me. His arms trap my own to my body but they still bend at the elbows so I manage to hug him back.

I shouldn’t really be hugging him back, but it’s hard not to. He’s so warm, and his grip is really tight, like he’s trying to squeeze the air out of me, but it feels really amazing. I don’t know how else to put it, I just really enjoy the way he’s holding me right now, with his chin on my shoulder and his head resting against mine.

It’s a long hug, one that goes pretty much unnoticed because everyone is focusing on the guy who just got shot in the arm, but I barely realize what’s just happened. Gerard’s body being so close to mine is all I’m aware of. That guy will be fine though, it was just his shoulder. Gerard could have _died_.

Why do I care if he would’ve died though? It’s my job to make that happen yet I’m the one who prevented it.

He pulls away after a bit too long but I don’t care. I hope my face doesn’t look gleeful but that embrace was something out of this world.

“I can’t believe you saved...” He struggles for words, “thank you so much.”

“Um, you’re welcome I guess. I mean someone did just try to kill you,” I point out.

His face falls slightly, “shit, you’re right!”

“You should be fine as long as we stay hidden under here,” I say to ease his mind.

“How can you be sure?” He looks petrified. I’ve seen that fear before. I’ve inflicted that fear. It hurts so much to see that fear in someone I know.

“Math. The only angle it could’ve been coming from to cause the ice to shatter would be that way,” I say pointing in the direction that hides us from whoever just shot at him.

“I’m not good with math,” Gerard says, “Who got shot? Is he okay?”

To be honest I’m not good with math either but I know my guns and that angle is the only possible explanation for how the bullet flew the way it did.

I turn to look at the man who’s bleeding into his suit pretty badly, but he’s really not in that bad a situation. I can tell from the way that he grips his shoulder that no permanent damage has been done.

“He’ll be fine, it’s just a shoulder wound.”

“Where is he? I should apologize,” Gerard says, and tries to stand up but I push him down. No way am I letting him get shot at again.

“Apologize for what? Being the intended target and not dying?”

“Well... no, I just mean, it should’ve been me,” Gerard says.

“No it shouldn’t. You would have died, Gerard,” my throat closes at the thought. He literally was about to die. How could I ever forgive myself if he died? I mean, shit, that’s not what I mean! How could I forgive myself if _I’m_ not the one who shoots him?

Something about that question doesn’t sit well in my stomach and I feel a little woozy as I sit there waiting. I’m not sure I had been aware of what I’m waiting for until I actually saw the police arrive. I’d spaced out and forgotten someone would need to call them.

There’s no reason I won’t be able to handle them though. I’ve never been interrogated or anything before but they won’t be asking me as a suspect, they’ll be asking me as a witness. I’m just another citizen as far as they know. Besides, I was standing next to Gerard and I saved him.

“Excuse me you two, I’d like to ask you a few questions about what happened tonight,” A woman says and I look up to see a cop standing over us. We’re still looking like morons under the bar counter.

“You can stand up we’ve already found the place that the shot was fired and the shooter is gone,” she assures us.

We nod and Gerard gets up much quicker than me, then helps me to my feet. For a moment I actually do get to hold his hand like I’d imagined, though I almost slip out of his grip because we’re both sweating. There’s electricity all the same.

As soon as I stand up I run my hand against my thigh to get rid of excess moisture.

After a little while of telling her everything that happened, and Gerard giving me way more credit than I deserve for saving him, she finally finishes up.

“Mr. Way, it seems you were likely the intended target,” The cop says. She’s blonde and looks tired but it looks like she really wants to help.

“Yeah, I guess,” Gerard says. He gulps and I can see his Adams apple physically bob in his throat.

“So do you know who’s trying to kill Gerard? A name at least?” I ask. I need to know who wants him dead. Maybe then I could ask, or try to convince them otherwise. Or threaten to rat on them unless they take the bounty off of Gerard’s head.

“We don’t know who _exactly_ , but we’re pretty sure we know who the assassin is,” she says. I guess they’re going on the assumption that the person who shot at Gerard tonight is the same assassin as before. It’s not, because that wasn’t me. Someone else shot at Gerard, and they probably did it in my name.

“Who?” Gerard asks.

“We don’t know his true name, as he’s managed to stay under the radar, but the name everyone knows is ‘The Enigma.’”

“What do you mean you don’t know who he is?” Gerard asks.

“Well the assassin himself is just the one who carries things out. We’re looking for the person who hired the assassin. As for The Enigma, he’s good. He’s very good. He’s got at least 30 bodies on his hand, probably more.”

So they _do_ know who I am. I don’t know if I should feel proud or nervous. I maintain a neutral expression though.

“If he’s so good then why did he miss three times?” Gerard asks. Hey, it was only twice! This guy isn’t me. He’s my replacement! Oh god, I’ve been replaced. That’s so demeaning.

“We don’t know yet, but I’m recommending you allow us to put a security detail on you,” she says.

“I think that’s a good idea Gee. I don’t want anyone to hurt you,” I say. Anyone who’s not me at least.

“I don’t want this taking over my life! I want to be able to have my privacy,” Gerard says.

“You won’t have a life to keep private if your dead though,” I say. I want him alive. Er- um, I mean so that I get to be the one who collects the money. Not because I care about him or anything like that.

“How intrusive would this be?” Gerard asks.

“We’d post people outside your building and keep someone around you 24 hours of the day.”

“For how long?” Gerard asks looking unconvinced.

“As long as it takes to catch the person who hired the assassin,” she responds sadly, looking at Gerard with complete empathy. Everyone sympathizes with the poor bastard. Even the guy meant to kill him, me, can’t help but feel the need to protect him.

“Please, Gerard?” I ask. If they’re outside of the building I could easily kill him with a silencer or something to that effect. It won’t be easy, but it’s not impossible. I do know the basics of burglarizing a house and sneaking in for a murder shouldn’t be too different. I know how cocky I probably sound, but you honestly have no idea how good I am at what I do. I am practically the best there is.

“Fine,” Gerard says looking defeated.

“Good choice,” the cop says, “thank you for your time.”

She walks away after that and starts saying something into a radio. I assume she’s calling in to get Gerard’s security.

When she’s out of ear shot Gerard turns to me and he looks scared, “Frank, I know I sound stupid, and I know how idiotic this is to say, but I’m too scared to be alone tonight.”

“What? Oh, no that’s not stupid. I’m a little wigged out myself.”

“Would you stay over maybe?” Gerard asks. “I have a guest room, I just need to know someone is there.”

“Um yeah, sure. I just need to stop off at home to grab something,” I answer. It looks like I’m going to be alone with Gerard tonight. If that is so than I’m going to need my gun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment?


	9. Things Have Changed For Me, And That's Okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelations, and murders.

“No, I’m fine,” Gerard’s talking on the phone with someone when I get back into the cab. It took me about twenty minutes to change out of my clothes, and grab a pistol. I also contacted my client to ask what the hell that was about.

All they said was that I had taken too long. I assured that I was still trying to finish him off though. I don’t want anyone taking that money but me. It’s mine, and I want it paid to me.

“Mikey I’m fine!” Gerard says exasperatedly into the phone. “No, he’s okay, it was just his shoulder.”

I can’t actually hear the other side of the conversation but it’s not too difficult to guess who it is. The cabbie pulls away from my building and starts heading in the direction for Gerard’s apartment. I’ve never been inside it before, though I’ve seen the outside plenty of times.

“Well Frank saved me,” Gerard says, and I blush slightly. I feel a little weird driving in this car with him with my gun. I changed out of the suit in favor of just a sweater and jeans, because it’s way more comfortable.

“No, I don’t know, he just saw the laser thing and-,“ I presume that Mikey interrupts him. Gerard rolls his eyes and then looks at me and smiles. He’s so damn cute, even when he’s annoyed.

“Just calm down, Mikey!” Gerard says after a minute, “I told them they could put security on me or whatever.”

“Alright, fine, I won’t leave the house,” Gerard says, after Mikey apparently gives him an instruction to stay indoors. “Yes, I’ll cover all the windows.”

“No, you don’t need to come over, Frank’s staying with me tonight,” he continues. I blush again. That sounds so suggestive and I hope to god that Mikey isn’t presumptuous.

It seems to take forever for Gerard to get rid of him, but eventually he does hang up when someone else is apparently calling him. How many people does he know that need to call him at ten o’clock at night?

Gerard groans when he sees the caller ID and mouths the word “publicist” to me. This particular call doesn’t last as long as the last because just quickly explains what’s going on and then hangs up.

“You know you can’t really blame people for being worried,” I say.

“I get worried, but what I don’t get is the overprotectiveness. Do you think I want to be shot at? Mikey seems to think I’m not keeping myself safe enough.”

“Well he’s not wrong when he says you should stay inside.”

“Oh god, you’re not going to patronize me too are you?” Gerard asks looking hopeless.

“Um, no sorry,” I answer, “it’s just that... Gerard I don’t want to see you hurt.”

Perfect timing because the cab stops as soon as I say that and it allows me to look away to hide the fact that I’ve turned scarlet. I step out quickly and allow my hands to fall across my face to try and erase the stupid. I pull them away and look around.

Even though it’s dangerous, I always have loved New York at night. The city lights and the sound of cars passing by in the quiet. It’s just really comforting to me.

“You sure you’re okay with staying over Frank? Because I could ask Mikey or-“

“No it’s fine,” I say, and do my best to smile at him, then I allow him to lead me into the building.

He lives in a much more grandeur home than I, with nicer halls as well as doors that haven’t been sloppily painted, and are made out of a nice wood.

He leads me up to the third floor, and then messes around with his key ring before getting the door open.

He guides me into his apartment which is so much nicer than mine.

Instead of a tiny little kitchenette he has a full blown kitchen which looks like it’s hardly ever been used. The living room has a large television, flat and sleek. A shag carpet with a coffee table atop it, separates the TV from a couch and a love seat that are both dark and comfortable looking. There’s a huge bookshelf to the side of the TV filled with horror films. I don’t know if I’d have pegged Gerard as a blood ravaging zombie type of guy, but it doesn’t necessarily surprise me. I’m learning not to be surprised by the different levels of Gerard.

Already looking at the room I can tell it was designed by someone who was either female or feminine because it’s not manly. My best guess is that Gerard’s a little gayer than he comes across as.

I have Gerard close all the curtains for more reasons than one. I don’t want anyone shooting him and I don’t want anyone seeing him get shot. He has trouble getting one of them because it’s a few feet above his head and it takes him a little while to get.

I watch him, and he’s so vulnerable. I have such a clear shot. It’s so easy. There’s nothing stopping me. I just need to pull the trigger and he’ll be gone. It’s not even slightly difficult. It’s so _easy_.

There’s no one here, it’s just me and Gerard. His back is to me and I could so easily stain his carpet with his own blood. I have no reason to be nervous or scared. I just need to press down on the trigger. Just need to press down. It’s so light, and so sensitive to the touch. It wouldn’t even require any force, I could just pull and then he’d be gone.

I don’t know why I’m still standing here looking at him. Why don’t I just do it? Why don’t I? I need this money, he’s just one person. He’s just one person. I am just one person, and so is he, so what makes it so hard to pull the trigger on him?

I can’t.

I can’t do it.

I feel the bomb drop in my stomach like a boulder. I literally can’t. For once there’s nothing stopping me. For once there’s no reason to make me flinch or feel the need to stop. I can’t do this though.

I am incapable of shooting Gerard Way. I’m not just having trouble. I physically cannot do it. Why?

I’ve never felt this way about anyone or anything. It’s like my whole body is protesting to killing him, and my head knows that I need to, but I just can’t. I _can’t_.

I know that I can’t turn away from this now, not after spending so much time on this assignment, but there’s no conceivable way I’ll ever be able to shoot Gerard.

As soon as I realize this I put the gun on safety, and I put it in my pocket. I can never hurt him. Nothing in the world is worth hurting such a precious human. Not money, not reputation. There’s no adequate reason to kill someone so innocent.

I knew two weeks ago that I was fucked. This only confirms that. I can’t even kill a loser with red hair. I don’t want to either. My heart says to keep him alive, my body says I can’t kill him, and my brain says I probably should, but I’m inclined to listen to my heart.

There’s only one decision that can be drawn from this epiphany. From today forward I’m not going to shoot Gerard. I can’t, and I just want to see him fucking alive. I want to see him smiling, moping, crying, and laughing. I want to see all of it. I do not want to see him cold and pale and without breath.

“You okay?” Gerard asks, as he turns for the first time in a few times. He finally got a hang of the curtain. He’s frowning with concern at me and his eyebrows have drawn together.

“Yeah,” I nod and I can’t help but grin at him. “I really really am.”

~*~*~*~

It’s dark and I can barely see my way in the dimly lit hallway. It’s sometime past four in the morning and I stumble down the carpeted floor to the room at the end of the hall. I’m tired and I feel ready to pass out from exhaustion, but I don’t stop moving.

There’s a door with a light beaming out of the crack at the bottom, and it’s lighting up the wall on the other side, but I walk past it to my destination. This hall seems absurdly long. It feels like I’ve been walking down it for months or years, even if it’s only been a second or two.

The door at the end is closed, and I hold my hand out to grasp the knob. It’s locked, because everyone is so protective these days. I sigh and grab a paperclip from my pocket which is curious because I don’t know why or when I would have brought a paperclip with me, but I don’t question it. I fumble at the little brass knob for a second, but the lock isn’t hard to pick. It’s not the kind of lock that’s going to keep out intruders it’s just the kind of lock that would keep out a nosy sibling.

The door opens, not with a click, but I can tell it’s unlocked by the feeling of the handle turning in my grasp. I open the door quietly and step in. It’s almost as dark in here as in the hallway, but not quite. The window does a good job at keeping people from seeing inside, but there’s still a hint of yellow street lamp leaking from the curtains.

The curtains hang above an air-conditioning vent, so the silky fabric blows delicately at the bottom. I watch the little dance it does for a second before shaking myself out of it and I remember why I’m here.

I turn to look at the figure lying peacefully in his blankets. His face is towards my direction, but he’s asleep. He’s beautiful like this, not knowing or caring anyone is watching. There’s a discernable rise and fall of his chest as he breathes in and out and I watch him for a few seconds, lost in the pattern.

He looks like a child in his sleep. So innocent and serene.

The glowing numbers on the alarm clock next to him make it possible to see him, though there’s a blue glow on his face. The redness of his hair doesn’t quite suit the indigo hue.

I get down to business though and pull my gun from my pocket. Without thinking too much about it I point directly at his heart and I shoot.

The bang echoes around the room, and surely it’s heard in adjacent apartments. The disarray of his blankets makes me miss his heart and instead I shoot his stomach.

His eyes dart open and he looks right at me. He looks so scared, like I never could’ve believed or imagined. I don’t like the look, but I can’t stop him from giving it to me.

He looks at me and then his hand traces down his body to where he’s been injured and when he brings his hand back up, its stained crimson, a color deeper than that of his hair.

After staring at his fingers for a few moments he looks back up at me, ready to sob or something. His hazel eyes swell and I see the emotional hurt as well as the physical.

“Frank?” He asks sounding so weak.

I don’t answer him. I don’t know how to. I’m the one who just shot him, what do I say in response?

“You?” He asks, and already I can see the light fading from his eyes, and the color falling from his cheeks.

“All along?” He continues and I don’t know how to feel.

I don’t like seeing him so hurt, so... so betrayed. He’s probably in excruciating pain. I don’t know exactly how it feels, never having been shot myself, but it can’t be too pleasant.

I decide to take him out of his misery and I raise my arm up to shoot again.

He looks at the weapon and there’s a plea in his eyes.

“Please? No, Frank,” He mumbles, but I shake my head and shoot again. Then again. The noise is earsplitting and it hurts my head to be so near to the source.

I wake up to knocking, not shooting. Pound pound pound. An insistent whacking at the door making me want to throw a sharp object at whomever is on the other side. I’m on the couch because it felt weird for me to sleep in a guest room. I know I’m a little picky, but I just didn’t like the idea of it.

The dream I just had leaves me a little shaken, but I forget it as soon as I hear Gerard’s voice. I don’t want to even consider the look on Gerard face if I were to shoot him.

“Who the fuck is that? I will end them!” Gerard screams from his room. I tend to agree with him, and I stick my head up to watch him walk out of his room quickly. His bedhead looks like sex hair and you have no idea how much I want to see his actual sex hair just to be sure that I’m right about that.

Gerard, because he’s a grown adult who’s allowed to make his own life choices, is wearing Star Wars pajama pants. Very sexy. Not really. I like it though.

I eye him in a half hidden position looking over the back of the couch to see him put his eye to the peep hole, sigh, and open the door.

“What do you want so early in the morning?” Gerard asks to the person at the door. Gerard’s hiding most of him with his body, but I can still tell its Mikey.

I haven’t said many more words to him since that awkward day a few weeks ago, but he seems nice enough, he’s just a bit quiet.

“You do realize its noon right?” Mikey asks. I try to remember what day it is, but I’m pretty sure it’s a Thursday morning. I might be wrong, so I don’t get too caught up on it.

“It’s early,” Gerard scowls and turns around, leaving the door open for Mikey.

“Thanks for the hello,” he says. I look at him a little closer to see he’s got two grocery bags in one hand. Do all the Way’s use tree-killing plastic bags?

“Why are you here?” Gerard asks. He gives me an eye roll and points to Mikey which makes me smile at him. He’s really cute like this. Not trying to impress, all alone with no one who cares what he looks like. Obviously he doesn’t need to work all that hard on his appearance, as he’s already ungodly attractive, but it’s nice seeing him so natural.

“I’m putting you under a make-shift house arrest until they find the guy trying to kill you,” Mikey says, and he throws the bags on the counter carelessly. He’s also closed the door and double locked it.

“You worry too much,” Gerard groans rubbing at his eyes.

“I only have one brother!” Mikey says, and he gives me a greeting in passing “Hey Frank.”

“What does house arrest entail exactly?” Gerard asks looking incredibly unenthusiastic.

“I don’t want you leaving the house unless you have to. I got you some basic stuff,” Mikey says and gestures to the bags, “tell me if you need anything else.”

“You’re treating me like I’m sick or I just got my legs chopped off!”

“I’m treating you like someone wants to murder you!” Mikey exasperates.

The realization hits me like a brick that I decided to keep him alive last night. Now that it’s the morning I would have thought that I might have regretted that choice and I wouldn’t be surprised to have taken it back, but it seems to make me so much more relaxed. I’m not going to kill Gerard, and I’ve made my peace with that. It seems so obvious that I was never going to kill Gerard. How did I never realize that that was my fate?

“Mikey’s right,” I say tiredly. My voice sounds like I just woke up, which I did.

“Thank you Frank,” Mikey says and he looks at Gerard like he’s just won a battle.

“There’s going to be an assassination all right, it’s just not going to be _me_ that’s dead,” Gerard says and he looks grumpy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never really know what to write here in the A/N. Avocado. Spandex. Jeremy Renner.
> 
> Comments maybe?


	10. One Way Or Another I'm Gonna Find Ya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh god, I'm so sorry about this.

“Gerard if you don’t need me here, I should be heading out,” I say.

“Aw, why Frankie?” Oh there he goes with the Frankie thing. I think I just died a little inside, in a good way.

I check my watch, and it’s almost seven at night. Gerard is frowning on the couch next to me and he looks honestly upset by my words. I don’t want to leave, but I also don’t want to over stay my welcome.

“Gerard,” I groan, “Mikey said he’s staying over. You don’t need me!”

“Yeah, but I _want_ you to stay over, I don’t have a choice when it comes to Mikey,” he says, and I feel kind of giddy at his words. Mikey left half an hour ago to get an overnight bag or something. I honestly do want to stay here with Gerard, but I’m too afraid of being too intrusive. The trouble is that now that he’s here, and now that I’m not trying to kill him, I have no real reason to be near him other than _to be near him_. I don’t want to spend so much time that he starts to dislike me though.

“Pwease?” Gerard says and he bats his eyelashes repeatedly at me. He’s like a fucking hypnotist, I swear to god. Gerard could be a magician. He would just ask the audience to imagine a bunny being pulled out of a hat and they’d probably see it.

“God, Gerard!” I say sighing, “fine.”

“You’ll stay?” Gerard asks, and he looks absolutely thrilled.

I nod grimly and he smirks. A second passes and I’m not sure what’s happening anymore. I think I’m going crazy.

Because one minute I’m sitting next to him and the next he’s kissing me.

And oh shit he’s kissing me. Oh shit. Oh shit. Shit!

Like actually. He’s actually kissing me. That’s actually Gerard and this is actually me and holy fuck.

The worst part is that this boy can _kiss_. I never really make a distinction between good kissers and bad kissers but Gerard is definitely a good kisser.

I can’t even stop myself from kissing him back, because he’s amazingly good at it. My stomach feels kind of tingly. What is he doing to me? He’s making me lose my guard.

I’m supposed to kill him. Except I’m not. I’m not going to do that. Now would be a perfect time. Absolutely perfect. I could just take my gun, and put a bullet through his head without even having to look but I can’t. I can’t, and I won’t and I sure as hell don’t want to.

But I can’t kiss him either. This is too quick, and I don’t know what I’m doing yet so this just can’t happen right now.

It takes me a minute to find my bearings, but I do manage to push him away. I really don’t want to though. I would rather do anything but push him away.

“No Gerard,” I mumble, and look down at my hands.

I can’t bear the thought of looking at him, but he probably looks hurt. I’d feel hurt too. I kissed back, who wouldn’t feel hurt?

“I thought... I thought...” he says, but he doesn’t finish and I feel even worse.

“I’m sorry. Gerard, I’m sorry,” and oh god I am sorry, but I lift my head and look anywhere but at him.

“You kissed back,” he says, and it’s so quiet I almost can’t hear it.

“I can’t mix work and, er, you know,” I say. That’s very true, but he doesn’t know that I mean my other job, rather than the journalism thing.

“You don’t like me anyway,” He mumbles and my guilt becomes infinite.

He doesn’t say anything more and I turn to look at him, but that is a big mistake. He’s like a wounded puppy, and I just kicked him. I just kicked a puppy.

I want to tell him that’s not true, but I don’t know how. Its better off that he thinks I don’t like him. It’s painful and I hate it, but it’s just better off this way.

“I should go,” I say, and stand up. How cliché. I’m the kind of guy who runs away from this situation. Oh god, I’m an awful human being! I already knew that, but I’m ten times worse for hurting Gerard. It’s Gerard. He’s perfect. Who would hurt him?

I’m out of the apartment before I even realize I started walking. I head down the hallway, keeping my head down.

Fuck, I just ran away from the hottest guy in the world. I’m an idiot. I already knew that though.

I am such an idiot. A real justifiable, indescribably stupid idiot. So stupid that it actually hurts to try encompassing how stupid I am.

Whilst dwelling on the stupidity of myself, I practically walk into something. Well, some _one_ given the fact that the thing I bump into has a pulse.

“Whoa Frank,” the thing with the pulse says and I look up to see Mikey. Blank expression as always. I’m starting to wonder if he has another mode besides neutral, but now’s not the right time to think about it. I just want to get out of here so that I can fully process the last 24 hours.

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” I say hurriedly. “Tell Gerard I’m sorry.”

“Sorry about what?” Mikey calls after me.

“Just tell him,” I say and then I walk out into the night.

I don’t know what to do, nor do I know where to go. I don’t think I want to go back to my apartment right now. I’m a little wigged out, and scared. I feel like I should go back to his apartment, but it’s too late now with Mikey being there. I can’t believe I walked away like that though.

I’ve never been a flight kind of guy. I’m a fighter. Then again nothing I normally do seems to apply to the way I am with Gerard. He makes me a different person. I don’t even know who I am with him.

I think when I disappeared into the assassin Frank persona I lost ahold of the real me. The strange part is that I didn’t know my true personality was lost until I tried to fake it. I was a fake Frank when I walked into that coffee shop two weeks ago, and it took Gerard to pull the real me out. With Gerard, I’m me. I’m raw, unfiltered Frank. I’m not assassin Frank, nor am I undercover journalist Frank, I’m just Frank. I’m the Frank who likes to play guitar and passionately lip sync to The Smiths. How can the real me have been discovered by him so quickly?

The hard part is trying to define myself outside of Gerard’s presence? Who am I when Gerard’s not looking? I thought I knew already... but that assassin I just don’t think he’s me. I think he’s The Enigma. I think The Enigma part of me was taking over my natural personality and all it took was a fucking dork and his fucking dorky comic book.

I’m not sure when ‘fucking dork’ became synonymous to ‘Gerard Way’ in my head but it definitely has. The two terms are one and the same.

Wherever my intended destination originally was, takes a detour because the next thing I know I’m on the Subway. I like to ride around the trains sometimes to clear my head. Whenever I’m here it’s because I just need a break of priorities. I want to be unproductive and completely off the grid for a little while, and that helps my mental stability.

I like to write stories for all the people who sit around me and it’s a way to escape my mind. I just observe people and make up their back story in my head.

For example, the guy sitting across for me who keeps checking his phone, he’s an expecting father. His wife’s due date is sometime in the next few days and he keeps checking his phone for any missed calls. Maybe he stayed at work late because he’s taking paternity leave for a few weeks soon. He hasn’t eaten but he’s hungry and he might be waiting for his wife to call him and ask him to pick something up for dinner. He’s hoping for a baby girl, and all he can do is imagine the day when she rides her first bike. He’s nervous, but he also can’t wait.

I know nothing about this guy whatsoever, but that’s who he is in my head. It helps me escape my reality to create a new one for other people.

My head is starting to feel a little woozy after an hour so I wait out a few stops until it’s close to my home. I get off about five blocks away from where I need to be, but I don’t mind the stroll.

I don’t live in Fort Knox or some shit, but I don’t live in the Bronx either, so it’s not too busy and there aren’t any gangs hanging about that I know of. It’s not the safest place in the world but considering the fact that this is New York, its safe enough.

As soon as I step into my apartment I head straight for my computer, and send a message. I can’t do this anymore, and it’s best if I transfer the money back to its original owner. I only got a small portion upfront for this job, but I’m not going to keep it. For Gerard’s sake, I have to get rid of that money.

I tell my client that I’m giving up the case, and once the message is sent I sigh. No turning back now. I am no longer Gerard Way’s assassin. I will do my best to make sure he never has another assassin, but I can’t just ask my client for his identity. That’s not going to be fruitful and it would be suspicious.

I just sigh and start to take down the bulletin board of Gerard. I stack it all up into a neat pile, and then put it into a new folder and make a place for it in my secret nook under the floorboards.

I notice a sheet of paper that’d fallen when I was cleaning up, so I grab it to evaluate it. It’s the piece of paper with the instructions on Gerard’s hit. This paper, as well as a few documents, had been left under a discreet park bench for me to find a month ago. It seems like it’s been years since I took this case. Have I really only known Gerard for that long? Only a few weeks? The way he makes me feel is like I’ve known him forever.

I look at it for a while and then it dawns on me that there’s handwriting on this. Someone actually typed it up and wrote on it. They might also have put fingerprints on it. I don’t have any way to find out who wrote this though. I don’t have access to a fingerprint database.

Unfortunately I’ve already put my hands all over it so my prints are there too now. I can still do one thing with this paper though.

It’s not that difficult to make a copy of the note. There’s handwriting on it so it might be of some help in finding whoever is trying to kill Gerard. I put on a pair of disposable gloves, replace the ink in my cartridges with an untraceable kind, and then print the note on an untouched piece of paper. There won’t be any fingerprints linking me to this note and nothing else should be possible to link onto me either. I replicate the note, then put it in an envelope. I stamp it, and print out an address label so that I don’t have to incriminate myself with my own handwriting.

As soon as the duplicate is made, I take the original to my stove, turn the burner on and then set it on the stove. It takes a little while, but eventually a small black crinkling at the edge and then small little blue flames flicker on the end. It takes a little while for the yellowing and blackening to spread, and then the flames start turning redder but soon the entire letter is gone.

As soon as it’s gone I take the envelope, and head out of my apartment. I take a long walk down the road, find a mailbox and then drop the letter in. Obviously I didn’t put a return address on it, but I’d still rather send it far away from my home.

The police will be getting that note soon, and then they’ll have more to go on. I don’t have as many resources so they’ll be better off and it’ll be so much easier to find this son of a bitch. Whatever it takes to keep Gerard alive, that’s my number one priority. Gerard will live to see season four of Sherlock, you have my word. I just need him alive, at all costs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In order for this story to progress correctly this chapter was required. Sorry.


	11. What Makes A Monster?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soul searching and shit.

I get a call at about eight in the morning which seems impossible. For as long as I have known Gerard he has never woken up before eleven. It is Gerard though, unless my Caller ID is lying to me. I can’t deal with this right now, so I reject the call. I need some sleep. I have so much soul searching to do in the next few days that I need as much rest as I can possibly get.

I put the phone down to get back to sleep but it goes off again fifteen minutes later. Fucking Gerard. Doesn’t he realize that it’s early? I don’t want to talk with anyone until I have eight hours of sleep at least, but having gone to bed after midnight last night, means that it’s going to take me a while.

I want to just sleep! I turn my phone off, because I’m more likely to say something I’m going to regret if I’m tired. Maybe I’d confess undying love for him or maybe I’d tell him to go fuck himself. I’m very unpredictable when I’m sleepy.

I only manage to squeeze an hour more of sleep until I’m awake. I can’t get back to sleep so I might as well just get up. Being up so early means I am in dire need of caffeine. After a cup of coffee and a stale piece of bread I found in my pantry, I’m awake enough to at least do something.

I don’t know what to do though. I’m not trying to kill anyone at the moment. I could start actually writing that article about Gerard. That sounds like hard work. I’m not really in the mood to do anything that arduous today.

I might as well try to find a new case. Something quick so I can try to get my head back in the game. It feels like forever since I took a case even though I did one not too long ago, because of the one with Gerard taking so long. I’m not sure if I really want to do that either.

Mindlessly I start flipping through the file I have on Gerard. I don’t know why, it just kind of comforts me. I don’t really know what I’m looking for, I just want to see him.

Maybe I should call him back. Maybe I should go see him.

I turn my phone back on while debating this.

No matter how hard I try to console myself it hurts knowing that I’m this person. I’m this person who kills people. I’m this heartless person who’s stared into the scope of a gun and taken away someone’s life. I’m this person who sparing a guy’s life solely because he’s sweet. It occurs to me that the people I’ve killed in the past may have been sweet. They might’ve donated to charity, or saved a kids life once. I could’ve killed the next president and I wouldn’t have even given it a second thought.

Now this stupid guy walks into my life and he makes me realize how callous I’ve been. What if I killed someone who was as amazing as Gerard. I’ve probably killed someone’s fiancée. Someone’s only child. Someone’s best friend, or uncle, or aunt, or cousin. I’ve killed so many people and hurt even more.

Why am I only just realizing this?

I’ve been in this game for almost three years. It should have registered to me that I’m a bad person, but it feels like it’s all coming to me now. How do I even live with myself? How do I keep walking around without a care when I’ve been the reason that so many people have had to plan funerals? People who are closer to the victims than I am to Gerard, and I just took away that life. And for what? Money? Is that all I am?

I just kill people for my own sake, but what makes me worth any more than those people? What gives me the right to live when they don’t? I’m a murderer. The amount of blood on my hands is enough to get me several dozen death sentences.

 _What_ am I is the better question. I’m not even sure if someone like me is human. I kill people. That’s wrong. No matter who you ask, or what the circumstances, murder is always wrong.

I try to convince myself I’m not to blame because I’m not the one who wants the victims dead, but at the end of the day, I’m the one who pulls the trigger. At the end of the day it’s my actions that take lives away. I may be the middle man, but I don’t stop it. I never do anything to stop the death from happening.

Gerard doesn’t deserve this baggage. Gerard deserves someone honorable. He deserves a doctor, or a scientist. He deserves someone whose soul is still intact. Someone with morals, or just someone who means good. He shouldn’t have to settle with someone as disgraceful as myself.

That’s why I can’t call Gerard. That’s why I can’t like Gerard. I can’t be there for him with my job. I’d only ever put him in danger and I’d have to lie about who I am. I’d have to pretend I’m someone I’m not if I were to ever try to be with Gerard.

That doesn’t mean I don’t want him. Because I do. God, I do _so much_. I think I’m starting to realize that I want Gerard more than I want anything else.

I can’t get past how bad I am for him though. No matter how hard I try to be a worthy man, I can never change my past.

I look down at the floor. I blanked out for a few minutes and didn’t realized that the whole file, had dropped to the ground with a heap of papers now scattering my floor. A few pictures of Gerard are right side up and I look down at him.

I can’t even help, but smile when I see his face. He just looks so magical to me. He doesn’t even seem real. How can he be so perfect and yet still so different from me?

I don’t know if I’ve ever been so critical of myself in my life. I never look back, but here I am. I can’t help but think about how much pain I’ve caused.

Looking back on my first target it feels unreal. I can’t even remember what kind of person I was before that first hit.

It was the summer after I’d graduated college, and I couldn’t get a job. It was getting desperate so that I couldn’t do anything, and I couldn’t pay for food. It was just looking so grim. I’d have done literally anything to keep myself from thinking that I’d failed. I didn’t want to have failed while only in my twenties. It wasn’t fair that I was so drained without even trying to make a difference. Without even having a good opportunity.

Then there was that first case. It didn’t seem real to me. I’m still not sure where my life would’ve taken me if I hadn’t gone down this path.

It was about noon, and I was walking across the park after another miserable job interview. There was this guy, wearing sunglasses and he had his hood up. I saw him drop a manila envelope under the nook of a garbage can. I was young, so once he was gone I took it. I took that envelope and I ran home with it. I don’t know what I was hoping for. Money maybe? Maybe I was just curious. I wanted to know what that guy was doing that looked so suspicious.

Inside that envelope was a knot of money. About a thousand dollars in cash. There were also instructions. Instructions for a murder. I didn’t know what to do after that. I didn’t have any money, and rent was due. I couldn’t just turn the envelope away to the police, because then I’d have to return the money or something. I didn’t have a choice but to keep quiet and keep the money. The part that drew me in was the fact that the thousand dollars was just a fraction. It was only a tiny portion of the real sum.

It was so much money. I didn’t have close to that much in my bank account. I needed that money, and there was this convenient little option right in front of me. All I had to do was put a bullet in some cheating wife’s head. It seemed so easy. It was _so_ easy.

So I did it. I killed her. I killed that woman without knowing who she was. I just killed her for the cash. It was so much money though. It was a tantalizing field, and it was just sitting there for me to partake in.

The day I got home after killing her I’d puked my guts out. I felt so sick and awful. I couldn’t handle the meaning of what I’d just done. I went to her funeral, and I watched her family crying. I watched that woman’s friends cry over a white coffin. I watched that pain, and I knew it was my fault. I didn’t sleep for a week after that murder. I started losing a grip on who I was, but it was so much money.

A month later I killed someone else. And then another, and it started becoming easier. It became a game almost. I hated the implications of it, but I loved the reward. I still love the reward.

Gerard, though. What made him any different than that woman I killed? Why do I think I have permission to play God like that? It’s not my place to decide who lives and who dies, but I made that choice anyway. I still make that choice daily. For that, I think I’m the closest thing to a monster that you’re ever going to get.

I stand up and walk over to my computer.

I place my fingers on the keyboard, and start on that article.

“It’s such an indecent thing to say of someone that they’re nice. ‘Nice’ seems like such a generic thing. Anyone could be nice, and the dullness of the word makes it feel so impersonal. Nevertheless, some people we meet are just so nice. It’s hard to believe that some people can be so purely good, and it feels impossible to characterize a soul that pure. The thing about humans as a species is that we’re so cynical. We look for the negativity, so we have more words to describe the cruelty of a human then the goodness. We have more words to describe the bad parts of a personality then the good, and this makes descriptions difficult. I don’t have the words to describe Gerard Way. He is nice. The English language has no word to describe the brutal simplicity of how good a person he is. He is kind. He is nice, and I don’t know how else to put it.”

My phone goes off after I write up the first sentences, and I sigh. I look down at the Caller ID even though I already know its Gerard.

To my surprise however it’s not Gerard, but an unknown number. I don’t recognize the digits of the number. I might as well answer, I guess.

“Hello?” I ask into the receiver.

“Frank? It’s Mikey.”

Um, that’s weird. When did he get my number? That’s a stupid question, he’s Gerard’s brother.

“Okay...?”

“Gerard wants to know if you hate him. He didn’t get any sleep, and you weren’t answering your phone.”

“I just need a little time to think things through. I need some space to figure out what I’m doing,” I answer. That’s the most honest I’ve been to anyone, including myself, in a very long while. Other than Gerard of course. I never seem to lie to Gerard. At least not about my feelings.

“Would you mind if I ask what the hell is going on? I’m completely lost,” Mikey asks.

“Just let me think things through and then I’ll have an answer for you,” I reply, and hang up a second later. I have no idea what I’m doing right now, but I know that I don’t need Gerard’s little brother reprimanding me. Whatever is happening with my life right now, I need to figure it out on my own.


	12. Boop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pain relievers and bullets.

“Hey Frank, it’s Gerard, but you probably know that. You haven’t picked up your phone for a week, and it’s getting ridiculous. If you hate me than I understand that, but I need to know, otherwise you’re just leaving me hanging here. I need to know because you’ve got me hoping and that’s making me miserable. I guess I just miss you. Mikey hasn’t let me leave the house since you left and I really want to see you. I’m sorry I guess. I just hate thinking that you hate me. Call me when you can.”

The message beeps when it’s done and I can’t stop looking at the phone. I want to call him, I think. I don’t know what I want actually.

It’s been a busy six days for me. I finished that article on Gerard and turned it in. It’ll be published in a week. That’s not all I’ve done though. Besides writing, I’ve been... _investigating_ per se. I need to find out who’s trying to hurt Gerard. It’s never felt more important to me then it is now.

I broke into Mikey’s apartment when he wasn’t home. His handwriting doesn’t match the note. I also visited Gerard’s office when he was out to check the secretary’s handwriting. No match. I took a photo of the note before I burned it, but I’m not getting anywhere on this lead. I have a list of Gerard’s known contacts but the guy is even more of a hermit than I am. I’ve checked even the most obscure people, like the barista’s in his coffee shop. Found an old roommate of his. Nothing. I’m getting nowhere.

It’s Saturday now and I don’t know where I’m going with this investigation. I don’t even know if I’m going about this correctly. Maybe the guy who hired me had someone write that note for him. I don’t see that as likely though because that would mean he’d have to include more people in the transaction. When it comes to assassination it’s better to keep it as under wraps as you can. So who has enough money to kill Gerard, and who wants him dead so much that they hired two different people?

The word on the street about The Enigma is not flattering. People think I’m either dead or a sucker. It’s true that Gerard should be easy to kill, but he keeps managing to escape being killed. Three different attempts on his life is starting to seem impossible. It’s practically unheard of. I want him alive though. I want him to have a chance at finding someone worthy of him and I’m willing to put myself in danger to make sure he gets that.

It starts raining in the afternoon and it doesn’t let up for the rest of the day. It actually starts getting harder and I already know that my neighbors upstairs are going to have a leak which means I’ll probably have a leak too. The floors aren’t as insulated as they could be, so I’m used to it.

I’m not really doing much of anything until my phone rings so I groan then look down at it. It’s the number I now know to be Mikey’s so I decide I’d better answer it.

“Gerard’s been shot,” Mikey says as soon as I pick up.

“What?” I feel like my whole body just stopped working. If he’s not okay then it’ll kill me. I need him to be okay.

“He got shot again when he was sneaking out to go see _you_.”

“Are you saying this is my fault? I’m so sorry, okay! You can blame me until your lips bleed, I just need to know that he’s alive. Is he okay?”

“He’s fine, it’s fine. He’s okay.”

“Oh thank god. How did they miss _again_?” I ask. Four times with no success? Either Gerard is a lot luckier than he looks or something else happened.

Mikey answers plainly, “They didn’t miss. He was hit dead on.”

“What? How is he okay?”

“I acquired a bulletproof vest, and it did it’s work.”

“Oh my god,” I say and I bury my face in my hands. I don’t even have words. I can’t stand this constant horror that Gerard isn’t going to see the next day. Mikey’s saved his life more times accidentally than I have by ending the contract purposefully.

“I’m... I,” I can’t find the right words for what I’m trying to say, “I’ll be over in a few minutes, just hold on.”

“Good.”

I hang up a minute later, and without thinking I’m out the door. For some reason seeing Gerard seems so much more important than my own problems right now. I guess I’m selfish but I like seeing him.

Given the rain, and the fact that New York shuts down when it so much as drizzles, it takes me well over an hour to get to Gerard’s place. Eventually I give up on getting anywhere in a cab though. It took me ten minutes to even get one, but with the stand still of traffic, it’s quicker just to walk. By the time I get there I look like I just took a shower with my clothes on.

“Did you notice that you’re wet?” Mikey asks as soon as he opens the door.

“How did I ever go through life without someone like you Mikey? Am I wet? Really? How’d you ever figure that one out?” I ask sarcastically. It doesn’t take much for my words to sound angry, but Mikey just shrugs and stands back to let me in.

“Where is he?” I ask as soon as the door closes behind me.

Due to the back of the couch being in my way I can’t tell that he’s laying down there until Gerard raises his hand and starts waving.

“I’m here, don’t worry!” Gerard’s voice calls and he sounds weird.

“How bad is it?” I ask Mikey.

He shrugs, “best it could’ve possible been. He’s got a bitch of a bruise, but he’s alive and that’s what counts.”

“What happened exactly?” I ask him.

“Gerard snuck out while I was making dinner, and when I saw that he was gone I figured he was trying to go see you,” Mikey starts, “But I don’t know where you live so I was just going to check and see that Gerard hadn’t gone too far or anything, so I ran out of the building and a bunch of people were crowding over him just outside the entrance to the building.”

“So he’s okay then?” I ask Mikey.

“I’m fantastic Frankie! I very nearly broke a rib, or so they say,” Gerard says before he starts giggling. I have no idea why he’s laughing, but it is fucking weird given the circumstances. Gerard never gave me the impression that he wasn’t weird, but still, there’s a time and a place.

“Is he high?” I ask incredulously.

“Yeah,” Mikey says nodding, and then looks at me.

He must have realized how that sounds because he quickly clarifies, “No, I mean. Yeah, he’s high, kinda. The bullet blew him back and he hit his head on the sidewalk. He’ll be fine, but he had a monster of a headache so the doctor gave him some pain relievers that make him kind of loopy.”

“How on earth did he survive if he hit his head? Why didn’t the person just fire twice?” I ask. That’s so sloppy, I would never do that. I would never just let a person go because they hit their head.

“Probably thought he was dead. He looked like it when I found him. Plus it was dark and it’s raining,” Mikey shrugs. “I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

I nod and wait until I get a better handle of my breathing. I pace over to Gerard on the couch who’s lying there looking like he just ate an entire batch of pot brownies.

He’s sitting there with one hand under his head in a relaxed position and he’s studying the fingers of his other hand like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. He looks like he’s never been more interested in anything more than his own fingers in his life. He’s also humming something that sounds chillingly like ‘Teenage Dirtbag.’

“Are you here to arrest me?” Gerard asks as soon as he sees me lean over the back of the couch.

“Why would I arrest you?”

“Because I stole a Jolly Rancher from Walmart once,” he answers looking dead serious.

He grabs my shirt collar and pulls me closer to him to whisper something in my ear, “Don’t tell Mikey.”

I’ve been around high people before, and I’ve been a high person myself in my life, but Gerard is the most amusing person I’ve ever seen. At one point in the next few hours he tries to play tic tac toe with himself, and he keeps booping my nose.

He also confesses his undying love for me a few times, but I shrug it off because of the amount of praise he also bestows on Scooby Doo. The way he starts talking about that dog though makes it seem like he’s ready to propose to the cartoon.

I sit on the table in front of the couch waiting for him to fall asleep. Sooner or later he’s bound to get tired, or the drugs will wear out or something but nope.

Mikey turned in almost two hours ago and it’s three in the morning by the time Gerard finally wears down. Every time I’d tried to get him to stand up and go to his bedroom he refused and turned himself into an anchor.

He falls asleep rather quickly. He just sort of collapses out of nowhere and starts lightly snoring. I have to admit it’s pretty cute, but he looks kind of uncomfortable being splayed across the couch like that.

I try to get him up and into bed, but the instant I try to he starts whining in his sleep and I don’t have the heart to wake him up. He’s just so harmless and innocent lying there without a care, so I decide not to bother him.

If it wasn’t so late I’d probably just get a cab home, but I’m so tired that I’m practically falling asleep where I stand. I make myself comfortable on the loveseat and drift aimlessly into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so on a list of my favorite people in this world Patrick Stump is probably number three (after Dan and Phil) so I just want to say HAPPY FREAKING BIRTHDAY to Patrick Stump! I love him more than almost anything so yeah. I hope you all have a very pleasant day in honor of the little angel that is Patrick Stump.


	13. I Can't Think of A Chapter Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh come on, you all know this isn't the last Frank will be seeing of Gerard.

I wake up before either Mikey or Gerard. Gerard’s drooling a little bit, but I don’t think much of it. He’s lying on his stomach with his hair covering his eyes and his hand slipping off the couch.

I feel happy looking at him, like this situation is utter shit, but then it sinks in that I’m just his friend. I’m just his would-be assassin turned miserable friend. If you can even call me that much.

I stand up and walk over to the kitchen to make some coffee. He starts moving around a little when I’m in the kitchen so I make enough for two. He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself to wake up which is never a fun thing to do.

“Ow,” Gerard moans from the couch a few minutes later, “my head hurts.”

“Well you did get shot yesterday,” I answer.

“Did that actually happen?” He groans in response.

“You were really fucking high, I’m not surprised you don’t remember.”

“You know what would be really nice? If people would stop shooting me.”

“I’m sorry, but the best I can offer you is a coffee,” I answer.

“Deal,” He says and I hear him rustling around for a moment before his head pop up to look at me as I’m pouring the coffee into the cups. I get one for myself as well and then grab both mugs and walk over to him.

“Thanks, Frank,” He says and I hand him a mug but he makes a face. “No, not that one.”

“Why what’s wrong with this one?” I ask looking down at the cup.

“It’s green.”

“What’s wrong with green?”

“Green is not a creative color,” he answers. I smirk, but hand him the other mug, and he adjusts himself into a sitting position so I sit next to him.

His hair is all messy and he looks pretty drowsy, but he’s otherwise unblemished so I can’t complain.

“So thanks for staying the night I guess,” He says. He looks uncomfortable and I can’t blame him. It’s been a week since I last saw him. A whole week, and it took him being shot at for me to come back. How does he not hate me? I hate me a little bit. He thinks I hate him though, doesn’t he?

“Gerard, I want you to know that I don’t hate you,” I say.

“Good,” he says with a nod and he takes a loud sip of coffee, “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s... I mean it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“I just, how about... can we forget it ever happened?” Gerard asks.

“It’s not your fault Gerard, I was misleading you.”

He frowns, “please, can we just forget it?”

“Yeah, yeah sorry. It’s forgotten.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, Gerard. It’s fine,” I answer.

Things are quiet for a few minutes with a lot of awkward slurping. I don’t know what to say so I don’t say anything. I can actually feel the awkward. I could cut the awkward with a knife. No one has ever been so silent for so long before. It’s so quiet. What does one do in this situation?

Gerard tried to kiss me and now I’m sitting here next to him. I’m sitting here next to the guy who I might be falling in love with and he very well might like me back and I’m doing nothing about it.

If I could make one wish it would be that all this shit never happened. I would never have become a bloody assassin, and I’d have never been given Gerard as a hit, and I would never have met him and I wouldn’t be in this mess. I would rather have never known him than make myself miserable with knowing that I can’t have him.

Oh god do I want him though. I want to take the last three years back and I want to meet Gerard. I want to meet him at that stupid hipster coffee shop and I want to have a conversation about zombies or some shit with him. I want to ask him out for coffee and then blush because we’re standing in a coffee shop. I want to go on a first date and try to hold his hand and then get all embarrassed because I’m hopeless. I want to go see the last Harry Potter film with him and make out at the back of the movie theater. I want to meet his family and be nervous that they’re not going to like me. I want to lease an apartment with him and watch him develop the first edition of his comic. I want to read the newspaper over his shoulder and make faces at him across the table. I want to pick out shirts with him after he spills grape juice on his favorite one. I want to wake up on a Monday while the sun isn’t even up yet and I want to groan because I have to go to work, but then I would smile and feel like everything is okay because Gerard would be lying there right next to me. I want to have a stupid fight with him about the dishes or some other shit. Mostly what I want is him.

I don’t want him to be at risk of dying, and I don’t want to be an assassin. I don’t want any of this. The only thing I really want is the guy sitting right next to me, but I don’t have that option.

What I want right now is to just lean in and tell him that I’m here for him, but I can’t do that. I know that absence is supposed to make the heart grow fonder, but being near him is what’s making this so difficult on me. Being near him isn’t fair to either of us. If I am to keep him safe and out of harm’s way, then he shouldn’t be around me. Being in his life is just going to make this more difficult on the both of us.

If I stay then he’s going to think of me more and more as a friend or whatever. Maybe he’ll think of me as the guy who broke his heart, I don’t know. I just know that the sooner I get away from him, the sooner we can both start to forget. Forget each other and forget whatever might have happened between us.

I clear my throat and say the first thing that comes to mind, “my article is going to be published next week.”

“Oh, okay,” he says, and then doesn’t say anymore. I feel so wretched thinking all this crap about him. I’ve known him for so little of my life, but he gets to me. He just _gets_ to me in a way that no one else ever has and I hate it, but I love it. I love the way he makes me feel and I hate the new feeling. In so many way I love and hate Gerard. He’s making me question my whole existence, but he’s worth questioning it all for.

“So I guess with the article being published we have no reason to see each other again,” Gerard says.

“Yeah,” I answer in a whisper. He’s right. I’m the journalist writing about him and nothing more.

Another few minutes of silence. I don’t want to even think about the next few weeks. I’m going to be miserable if I’m going to avoid Gerard. I don’t want to avoid him in the slightest, but I really should.

“I should, um, I should be heading out then,” I say once the coffee in my cup is gone. No point in prolonging the inevitable.

“What? Oh. Sure okay.”

I think for a few seconds before standing up. I don’t even know how to describe how much I want to stay put here forever.

“I’ll walk you to the door then,” he says standing up beside me.

There’s a long pause when we’re both standing there and trying not to look at each other. Neither of us have forgotten what happened a week ago and neither of us ever will. That’s pretty damn obvious. I should start moving or I’m never going to have the courage to go.

I turn around and step around the couch. Gerard follows and I walk over to the door. I put my hand on the knob and every single fiber in my body is telling me to turn around and kiss that bastard until I can’t breathe. My body is actually trying to pull me against my will and shove myself into his arms.

I don’t though. I just open the door and then stand there in the door frame. Why does this have to be so hard? Why couldn’t Gerard be an asshole? Why did I have to get the hot guy? The universe is really good at holding a grudge because it’s hated me ever since I was threes year old and stepped on an ant.

“I guess, uh, goodbye?” I say. Goodbye sounds so resolute. I’m not sure if I really mean that as a goodbye or just a see ya, but I wish it was the latter.

“Yeah, see you. Or maybe I won’t. What I mean is... bye?”

“You’re not going to die Gerard. I know it,” I say.

“Well someday. I just wish it was in the distant future rather then so soon.”

“Hey,” I say sternly, “you’re going to be okay. Okay?”

He tries to repress a small smile and bites his lip. I want him to be biting my lip.

“Yeah okay. Whatever you say, Frankie.”

I frown and nod, “okay. I’ll um, be going then.”

I say and I step into the hallway. He doesn’t close the door and he doesn’t make a move to, so I turn to look at him.

It might be my last time I ever see him in person and if it is, I want to remember his face. I want to remember this moment until I can’t remember anything at all anymore. His bright hair, and his beautiful face. Those dazzling eyes that I’m going to be seeing in my dreams for the rest of my life. His lips that are never going to kiss me.

“Bye Gerard,” I say, and I turn. If he’s not going to close the door then I should just walk away.

“Bye Frank,” He calls after me, as quiet as he can while still being audible.

I don’t turn around and I don’t slow down until I reach the end of the hallway. I don’t even look back when I reach the door to the stairs. I don’t know if he closed the door after me, but I don’t turn to look. My stomach feels like it’s been replaced with a brick of chalk. I feel like screaming out or something, but I just keep walking. Down the stairs, out the lobby and then down the street.

Gerard might be watching me from the window, but I hope he isn’t. I hope he doesn’t see me lift a hand to my face and wipe away the tears that forms when I blink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today is a sad day. It's not Patrick Stump's birthday anymore.


	14. The Stupidity is Strong With This One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys we have about 363 days until Patrick Stump's birthday.

It’s been two weeks since I last saw Gerard. For so long I was tempted to just bump into him whenever I could find the chance, but whenever I tried, I just didn’t. I was so close to ‘accidentally’ seeing him so many times but I didn’t do it.

I watch him from afar I guess, but not in the creepy way. I’m honestly just trying to make sure that no one around him is trying to kill him. He’s stubborn and I know that, so he didn’t allow himself to be stuffed up in a house for much more than a week. Still he’s been in the clear for a while. Two weeks and no attempts at his life.

As for me I’ve been pretty shit. It’s like I’m going through a bad breakup but I was never even in a relationship with him. Still I find myself watching Letters to Juliet and eating pringles by the hundred.

I finally decide that I’ve had enough of all this shit. I want to see him. I want to see him like that rabbit wants those Trix. I want to be near him like Gollum wants that ring.

I don’t even know what I’ll want when I see him. Maybe a hug, or a handshake, or his tongue in my mouth. I want to see him. That much I know.

I don’t actually know where he is today. It’s a Tuesday. Where do people go on Tuesdays? Work, usually, but that means that Gerard will be anywhere, _but_ at his office. There’s really only three options when it comes to Gerard. He’ll be at his office, in his coffee shop or in his apartment. I decide I might as well go to his apartment first.

I arrive in front of the door at about noon, but when I knock there’s no response. He doesn’t seem to be home and I don’t hear any rustling around so I doubt anyone else is in there. I sigh, but head back out onto the street. I walk the few blocks to his office which is closer to me than the coffee shop so I stop there.

His assistant, whose purpose I’ve still yet to find, gives me a funny look. I figure she either doesn’t remember who the hell I am or she just doesn’t like me. It’s possible that both are true.

I don’t say anything, but I spot that Schechter guy in his office because the door is open. I already broke in there to check his handwriting so he’s in the clear, and I don’t want to have to try to make small talk so I just turn on my heels when she says that Gerard’s not there.

Why does he have an assistant if he’s never here? It seems pointless, though I doubt her position was not entirely determined by Gerard because he would never have picked someone with such an obvious distaste for humans. I’ve spoken four words to that girl, but I get the impression that she’s a bit of a homophobe. I don’t know how someone of that state of mind could work for Gerard, but I don’t worry too much about it.

I walk down the street until I get to the coffee shop and I cross my fingers. I don’t know if I’m hoping that he’s there or that he isn’t. I want to see him, but at the same time I really don’t. I think I want to talk or something, but I’m so nervous about that very idea.

I take a deep breath and walk a little further to peak into the window. No point in going in if he’s not there. He is though.

Red head messy as always and back facing the window. He’s far enough in the coffee shop that no sniper could possibly get him. A handgun would work though.

The odd thing is that Gerard’s not alone. There’s a man sitting across from him. He’s not in my usual seat to the immediate left of him, but I still don’t like the way someone else is there instead of me.

From the looks of it though, I have nothing to be jealous of. For one thing the man sitting across from Gerard is in his late sixties. Thin, crisp, well groomed, but unwelcoming. His forehead is creased in anger like he and Gerard are fighting about something. Actually he’s probably angry at Gerard, because Gerard doesn’t really get mad. If he does get mad he walks away from the situation completely.

Another thing that tips me off is that Gerard’s hands are completely still on the table which means he’s either not talking or he doesn’t care about what he’s saying. He gets very stiff when he has no passion for the subject at hand, and my guess is that he’s probably annoyed, but he’s too nice to tell this guy to go away.

I don’t know whether I should just walk off and try again tomorrow or wait until they’re finished, but I am not interrupting him. I have to figure out who this guy is though, because he doesn’t look familiar to me, and he’s mad at Gerard. Maybe he’s the guy trying to kill Gerard. Doubtful, but not off the table.

As it turns out I don’t have all that long to wait for the conversation to finish because the man stands up violently and struts away from Gerard’s table without so much as saying goodbye. I couldn’t actually hear what they were talking about because I’m outside, but I gather that it was not a fun subject.

When the greying man walks out of the shop I walk towards him and ‘accidentally’ bump into him. Well if I’m not going to do anything today at least I got this guy’s wallet. That should be fun to look through. He doesn’t notice me take it from him because I’m just the little guy who walked into him on the street. I’m a jack of all trades you could say. As long as that trade happens to include illegality.

I walk in and feel myself shiver because the air conditioning in here is colder than the wind out there. It’s strange for a coffee shop to be so cold, but I don’t care. I’m on a mission.

There he is, he’s at his table in the coffee shop, just as I’d have expected. His head is turned away from me so he hasn’t registered that I’m here yet. I could still leave. This is my last chance to just walk away and get out of his life forever. It would be the smartest thing to do.

I probably won’t get caught by the cops if I never see him again, and I can’t get hurt in the aftermath of someone trying to kill him. Well I can’t physically, but the emotional implications of that would hurt like hell.

I can’t do that to him though. I’m selfish, sure, but I want him. I want to be his. I just need to talk to him, just this once, and then I’ll be out of his life again. He’s like a drug to me. I can’t just quit him cold turkey, I have to take it easy.

Maybe I can find something I hate about him. There isn’t anything I hate about him though. If I find a flaw then it’ll be so much easier to walk away, but unfortunately this fucking dork is as perfect as they come. A bit eccentric, but lovely.

I take a deep breath and walk over to his table.

“Can I sit down?” I ask. This is turning more and more into a cheesy rom-com by the minute.

He looks up at me, and he looks far past surprised. He’s looking at me like he’s seeing a ghost, and his mouth hangs open for a few seconds before he nods.

I take my normal seat and he looks at me a little perplexed for a moment.

“I, uh,” he clears his throat and looks down at his sketchbook for a second before finishing, “I saw the article.”

“And what’d you think?” I had almost forgotten about that. It’s funny how the thing that brought us together seems so small and inconsequential now. Well it didn’t actually bring us together, my contract did, but he doesn’t know that.

“Was good,” he says quickly. “Did’ya get the job?”

“I got an offer, yeah.”

He nods and I know he’s trying to be casual, but it’s hard for him. He’s probably pissed at me or something.

“Going to accept it?”

“I’m thinking about it,” I answer. I won’t accept it though. Just because I resigned this one case doesn’t mean I’m out of the business. It’s what I do. I just couldn’t do it to Gerard.

“Is that all?” he asks. I can actually hear the pain in his voice and I want to scream because of how much it hurts me.

I think of all the things I could say here. So many things that are dying to fall off my tongue, but instead I shrug and kick myself mentally.

What the hell does that shrug mean? It probably looked stupid. I probably look stupid. He probably thinks I’m so stupid. I _am_ stupid when I’m around him. I’m the best person I can ever be when I’m around him, and that just so happens to mean I’m a moron.

“So how’d you convince Mikey to let you free?” I ask. That’s a stupid ass thing to say.

“Just did,” He answers shortly. I can’t tell if he’s pissed off or sad. While most of me is hoping he’s not mad, a part of me thinks that would be ideal. I’m only trying to do what’s best for him and if he doesn’t want me around then it might help me stop yearning. I can’t stomach the thought of him not wanting to see me, but it would be beneficial for my mental state in the long run.

“I, um,” Gerard clears his throat and he refuses to look at me, “I have somewhere I’m meant to be.”

“Oh. Okay,” I say. He’s lying and we both know that but I’m not going to stop him. My heart cracks a little when it sinks in that he’s only saying that to get away from me.

“I’ll, uh... bye,” Gerard says and he stands up quickly then walks away. He didn’t make eye contact with me more than once during that whole whatever that was. It wasn’t a conversation, that’s for sure. It was five minutes of us sitting and breathing uncomfortably.

Well shit, this went horribly. He’s gone now, and I have no right to follow him. I should just scream at him that I’m crazy for him, but he’d get even madder at me. He’d think I’m needy, or something.

Maybe he didn’t leave because he was mad at me though. Maybe he just left because he’s actually got somewhere to be. Unlikely. Maybe he feels just as nervous around me as I do around him. I’ve walked out on him twice, maybe this was his payback. I have to stop thinking about the maybe’s though. He and I just won’t work. It’s a case of a round peg and a square hole. Or maybe we’re both square pegs and we don’t connect because we’re _both_ the anomalies.

Mindlessly I decide to look through the wallet I just stole. His name is Derek Fischer and according to his business card he’s Gerard’s boss. He’s the publisher of Gerard’s comic. Why would he be mad at Gerard? Personally, I think that being shot at is merit for a little slack. That’s just me.

I mentally add this guy on my list of people to background check. So far I’ve only got two suspects, one being Mister Fischer and the other being some ex-boyfriend of his. I don’t know much about either, but according to some not so polite emails I happened to come across when thoroughly searching Gerard’s computer, it did not end well. Let’s just say that this ex-boyfriend belongs as an ex or a never was.

I’m really fucking bothered by the fact that he broke up with Gerard because he wouldn’t put out. Gerard’s personality is the most amazing thing in this world and that guy was angry about his _sex life_? He doesn’t deserve Gerard if that’s all he’s after. Because of that the ex is at the top of my list. If he doesn’t think there will be repercussions for picking on Gerard than he is not going to enjoy the next time he bakes cookies because I _will_ replace every drop of sugar in his home with salt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think you guys will like the next chapter. That's all I'm gonna say.


	15. This is the Chapter You've Been Waiting For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're Welcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Current Playlist: Cavalier Youth and Sinners Never Sleep

I’m actually not sure how I ended up standing in front of Gerard’s door. I do know that I just spent three hours pacing around a comic book store. I kept glancing at Gerard’s comic and I can’t even figure out how my feet managed to make it here but here is where I am.

I think what prompted me to come here was getting a phone call from Mikey. That was an hour ago, but I can’t stop thinking about what he said.

“Frank, I’m not one to intrude and you have every right to get mad at me or whatever but I think you’re being a fucking idiot. Gerard will kill me if he knows I said this, but he’s really head over heels for you and you keep ignoring him. It’s stupid and it’s a bit mean. Now I’m not going to say that you have to like him back, but you’re stringing him along on a hook. Just because you don’t like him back doesn’t mean you should completely remove yourself from his life.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that it doesn’t matter if you like him or not, you’re being a bitch by walking away.”

“You’re right. I do have every right to get mad at you,” I had answered.

I hung up and then spent another few minutes pacing until I kind of spaced out and now find myself in front of the apartment.

Behind this door is the guy who I want more than anyone else in the world. I just can’t do the math as to whether it’s worth it. Do I like him enough to actually walk back into his life?

I try to stop myself from knocking, but it’s like I’m possessed. I might have just stepped into an episode of Supernatural or something because I’m barely in control of my limbs. My brain is working in overdrive to try and get the signal back but my body ain’t listening.

It’s around dinner time so I’m probably intruding on his life, but I can’t stand this anymore. The waiting is hellish and I’m absolutely abysmal at it.

I’m selfish. I am a selfish idiot with overactive hormones. This is all completely inappropriate, but I can’t fucking stay away. I need to see him. He ran away from me earlier today at the coffee shop and I’m still a little worked up over that, but I just need to tell him.

I have to tell him how I feel and if he doesn’t want me then that’s fine, but I’ll at least have my answer. I won’t have to deal with the “what if’s” because I’m just going to put it out there for the whole world to see.

There’s noise behind the door and then it’s being pulled open, and the glorious human being, that is Gerard, is standing there. He looks devastatingly beautiful right now. Sweat pants, and a ratty oversized Clash shirt with messy hair.

“Frank?”

I have to speak now. Oh god words. I have trouble remembering any words that have ever been said. I didn’t think this through enough. I should’ve rehearsed something to say.

“I’m sick of this.”

“Sick of what?” he asks looking confused.

“I’m sick of this game. This back and forth shit!” I say, “I want to talk about last week.”

Gerard looks incredibly surprised by that as do I, because I wasn’t even anticipating myself to be so forward.

“I’ve already forgotten it,” he says quickly.

“No, Gerard, that’s not what I meant. I mean that, I, shit, um,” boy do I have a way with words.

“Frank its fine. I’m sorry for assuming-“

I cut him off the best way I know how. I’m not sure if he’s mad at me so I decide not to go for the mouth, but I do kiss him on the cheek, and I hope to god that he understands my message. I have to stand on my tip toes because he’s tall, but whatever. It’s worth it.

“Frank?” he asks, startled when I go back to my original place a foot away from him. He looks hurt or broken or something which is the exact opposite of what I was hoping for. Does he think I’m teasing him or something? I don’t want him to think that.

“You’re wrong for thinking that I don’t like you,” I tell him, and something compels me to grab his hand in my own. He’s so lost right now, and I just want him to understand that I like him. There is no way for him to comprehend how I feel about him. The words don’t exist. The feelings are incomparable. It just feels so invigorating. Like fuel. My feelings are the fuel for a burning passion inside me that I don’t understand.

“You’re confusing me Frank,” he says shaking his head. He’s still so lacking in self-confidence which is disheartening. I wish he could understand how beautiful and amazing I find him. I see him as brighter than the sun, and sweeter then maple syrup. He’s like the PJ to my Chris, or the Ianto to my Jack. The Kanye West to my Kanye West? It doesn’t matter, I just really like him.

“Ugh, Gerard,” I sigh with irritation, “I don’t know how to put this any other way. I like you. I really like you. I’ve wanted to kiss you for like a month, and I just kept myself in fucking denial because I couldn’t like you, not with my job, but it’s true and I do. I like you so much that I could barely concentrate on writing anything while you were talking to me and-“

He stops me quickly putting his mouth on mine, and I feel my eyes roll up into my head. He’s kissing me again. He’s actually kissing me, and this time, I’m just not in the position to complain. I wasn’t last time either because he’s a damn good kisser but I’m not even going to allow myself to consider that eventuality. I’m so fragile and weak to his charm, that it’s insane. The things this boy does to me.

I fall limp slightly and I can’t handle all the emotions I’m having. Do I feel guilty? Kind of, but I can’t care, because holy fuck I’m kissing him. I’m not going to stop it this time, and I never will again. Not for any amount of money in the world.

Now obviously, we are still standing half in the hallway, so he grabs me quickly and closes the door behind him. To be perfectly honest I don’t want to do anything besides kiss him. I’m not exactly what you’d call a whore, but I like sex don’t get me wrong. That’s the last thing on my mind right now with the first being “holy shit” and the second being “holy shit.”

There’s this annoying thing about being human wherein you have to breathe or else you die, and it gets in the way of all kinds of good stuff. Like deep sea diving, and snogging.

What I mean to say is that we have to take a minor pause so that we don’t asphyxiate. Though when you think about it, death by suffocation caused by making out with a hot guy is a pretty good way to go.

“Wow,” is all I can muster.

Gerard is looking at me nervously, but it turns out to be gleeful after I say that. He’s such a dork. I want to kiss him so much.

“You’re not kidding?” he asks.

“Not even close,” I respond.

“Oh thank god,” He says and he grabs my head to pull me back to him. I feel so fucking good right now. The butterflies in my stomach are blissful. My whole body feels just so warm and it’s all because of Gerard. This fucking dork.

I wonder if he’d still like me if he knew what I was. I’m not going to touch that subject with a seventy foot pole. He’s here and I’m kissing him and that’s all that really matters right now. My occupation can have no place in this relationship.

I honestly believe that this is the best moment of my life. I’ve never felt this way while kissing someone, but I’ve never kissed anyone like Gerard. I’ve never actually liked kissing all that much either because it seems so boring and there are many more things I’d rather do, but this is Gerard. Nothing I know makes sense when I’m with him.

I’m so far past the point of lost, that a map would do me no good, but to be perfectly honest, I don’t fucking care. I care about Gerard and I’m done being selfless. This is for me. Kissing Gerard is because I want to. I can restrict myself from ever indulging on things for fun ever again as long as I get this one thing. Just Gerard. I’m done pretending I can’t have him because I will never complain again as long as I can cherish this forever. I am so done trying to do the right thing, because if this is wrong then I don’t give a flying fuck about the right thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But seriously can we talk about how perfect Patrick Stump is?


	16. Two Assassins and a Dickhead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank doesn't like cops.

I honestly don’t know what I’m doing, but I hope to god that this isn’t just Gerard using me or something. He doesn’t come across as the type of guy who would do that, but I don’t want to be anybody’s boy toy.

“Um, Gerard?” I ask when I find the opportunity to breathe. I’ve lost track of how long I’ve been kissing him. Five minutes could just as easily be five hours.

“What is it?” he asks immediately looking nervous. He went from sexy to sincere in two seconds flat, though to be honest the sexy is still very much there.

“It’s just...” I don’t want to be one of _those_ guys who makes this awkward by talking about it, but I also don’t want to be lead on with the wrong idea, “what does this make us?”

He looks even more nervous after I say that, and this is a truly odd position to be having this conversation in. Standing in the middle of his apartment with slightly swollen lips and some guy out there trying to murder Gerard. It could be better.

“I was hoping exclusive?” He says in a form of a question.

Exclusive is something I can get on board with. Exclusive is closer, intimate even.

I don’t have to ask my next question before he continues, “exclusively dating I mean.”

Oh fuck I must look like an idiot the second after he says that because I get a wide smile and bite my lip like I keep doing.

“I’ve never kissed someone with a lip ring before,” he notes aloud.

“I’m glad to take away your lip ring kissing virginity,” I say and then I realize how stupid that sounds out loud which causes me to turn red.

He smiles at me but not in a mean way, and it’s fucking perfect so I grab him. I’ve never been so hungry to kiss anyone, but I like Gerard so much. If I’m going to be truthful I probably love him, but I’m already dealing with a lot of shit right now so I’m not even going to try to consider what that means.

“You’re a fucking dork,” he says pressing his forehead to mine. That’s the exact term I use to describe him, which is ironic. We’re both just fucking dorks in the strenuous game of life. Unfortunately Gerard’s got a pretty avatar while I’m stuck with this face. Could be worse. I could look like an Ood.

A knock at the door is the only thing in the world that could pull me away from Gerard right now, aside from a crowbar, but unfortunately a knock is what follows his words.

“I’m going to kill ‘em,” Gerard says narrowing his eyes at the door like it’s the doors fault that someone is outside. I’m on his level though because I have a strong desire to beat the shit out of whoever made me stop kissing Gerard. If it’s Mikey than I should probably thank him for giving me the guts to actually do this, but I’ll still flick him in the temple.

“Who is it?” Gerard shouts at the door.

“NYPD,” a female voice answers. Now a person of my profession usually panics and hides when they hear something like that, but given the circumstances it probably would be more incriminating. It’s not that I don’t respect the police, because I do, but they have no place in my life. I guess I’m going to have to get used to that if I’m with Gerard. Preferably I won’t have to get used to it because they’re about to tell us that they caught whomever is trying to kill Gerard. I really hope it’s the latter, but knowing my luck they’re here to tell Gerard that his journalist friend is an assassin.

Gerard opens the door for the woman who is thankfully alone which means she’s probably not here to arrest me. You never know though. There’s something really weird about being near cops though. That would be like a dentist hanging out with a cake decorator or a geometry teacher hanging out with a therapist.

“Is there anything new?” Gerard asks her. It’s not the same lady that I talked with at that party, but this one looks far more official. There really is an odd stigma that comes with talking to a cop when you’re an assassin, and I don’t like it.

“A few things actually,” she says.

“Like what?” Gerard asks allowing her to enter the room. I’m leaning against the kitchen counter awkwardly and trying not to look like a serial killer.

She answers, “Well we received an anonymous copy of what looks like the kill order.”

Wow it took a long time to get there. I sent that almost two weeks ago. I guess they probably didn’t consider it important and disregarded it altogether. I’m glad they have it though, but they do have to be wary of the possibility that it’s plagiarized. It’s not but they can’t be positive of that.

“What do you mean?” Gerard asks looking confused.

“Someone sent the handwritten copy of the hit instructions and we’re trying to authenticate it.”

“Who would send something like that?” he asks.

Meeeeeeeeee! I don’t say that out loud though.

“Well that’s the other thing I wanted to tell you. It seems that there’s two separate assassins,” the cop tells him. I don’t know how to feel about the fact that they worked that out. On one hand it’s great that my reputation is slightly more intact, but on the other they now know to look for three people rather than the original two.

“How... what?” Gerard asks.

“Shell casings. The first two attempts didn’t turn up any shell casings, but the second and third were sloppier. It has the mark of a different person so that’s why we think there are two different people involved.”

“Oh great so now more people want to kill me,” Gerard says looking sick. I want to reassure him so much but I can’t. Especially not in front of a police officer.

“We think that the kill order was sent to us by the first assassin,” she continues, “but we do believe that he or she is not trying to kill you.”

“Why?” Gerard asks.

I feel like I should say something or my presence is only going to become more awkward, but I can’t find the right place to talk.

“Well as you’ve heard, we believed that the assassin was The Enigma, and he/she missed twice so our best guess is that they were fired for being unsuccessful. We believe that it was sent to us out of spite for being fired.”

That’s actually a pretty good theory. Not true, but smart. Then again who on earth would buy an assassin falling in love with his target? Their version make more sense than the real one.

“So I don’t need to worry about two killers?” He asks.

“No you still do, but only one of them is an assassin,” she replies. Way to be reassuring, that’s not helpful at all. There are still two people who want to kill you, but it’s better than three!

“So are you any closer to finding out who hired them?” I ask. I hadn’t meant to, but I really need that answer.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” she asks, actually looking at me for the first time.

“I’m... I mean- my, um, I’m Frank,” I could be a poet. That was hella graceful.

“What’s you’re relation to Mr. Way?” she questions.

I don’t know how to answer that one.

“...boyfriend?” I tell her. I see Gerard smile behind her, and I react in kind. Wow, is that true. Am I actually Gerard’s boyfriend? That’s awesome.

She looks surprised, but recovers quickly and answers my question as if Gerard had asked it, “I wanted to see if you recognized the handwriting on the letter.”

She grabs a piece of paper from her pocket and Gerard watches her hand it to him nervously. For him it’s probably terrifying because he doesn’t know whose print that is. For all he knows it could be Mikey’s and that would be pretty fucked up.

He looks down at the paper and as much as I want him to recognize it, I’m terrified as to whose he would identify it as.

“Umm, I don’t recognize this,” he says shaking his head slowly. “But that doesn’t mean I’ve never seen it before, I could just not remember.”

That’s not exactly what I was hoping for. I wish he knew who wrote it so that he’d be in the clear and I wouldn’t have to worry about him dying as much.

“Very well,” the lady sighs, “we’ll take samples of friends and families’ writing then to be sure.”

“Okay,” he nods, “is that all?”

“For now, yes,” she answers and I’m not afraid to say that I’m glad to see her go. She walks out a minute later after exchanging a few more words. As soon as the door closes I’m on Gerard again, and I’m not too keen about ever being away from him again.


	17. I’ll Sit At Home and Refine the Person I Want to Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've been waiting for so long to write this chapter.

I’m not going to lie to you, never in my life have I ever slept with someone without having sex. I’ve never spooned unless I’d also fucked so that makes last night pretty peculiar.

I didn’t have sex with Gerard, and I didn’t care that I didn’t either. He was just so warm and I didn’t want to leave so I stayed over. His body is like an envelope of warmth against me that I would normally find uncomfortable, but I don’t. I find it pretty relaxing actually and I don’t feel like ever getting out of bed again.

I feel like a teenager with their first love. I just feel so calm when he’s around me and it’s unlike any feeling I’ve ever experienced before.

When I do wake up my face is pressed against the side of his shoulder with my head mostly on the pillow. Gerard’s still sleeping and he looks so precious in this state. His chest is rising slowly and his face is purely tranquil.

It’s late in the morning and I can hear the sound of both cars and birds from the window, though the curtains are drawn so I can’t see out. I hear the quiet sound of his breathing as well and soon find my own exhales to match his.

He’s so pretty that no words do him justice. I watch him for little while and I honestly don’t get bored of him. I take everything in about him. His fingers are dry and color stained from drawing, his roots are showing slightly at the top of his head and there’s a very small, hardly noticeable, tint of red to his pillow from hair dye rubbing off. I keep constantly reminding myself that this is real and that I’m really here. Gerard is lying there next to me and I couldn’t ask for a more amazing moment then this.

I watch him as he slowly transitions into being awake and my body feels honored to witness it. He squirms carefully in the webbing of blankets until his eyes flicker open drowsily.

He mumbles something that sounds like my name and smiles when he sees me.

“Morning,” I whisper.

“Mm, morning,” he says and yawns. “So if your presence is anything to go by then I guess this means that I didn’t just have a really great dream last night?”

“I guess so,” I answer. No way did he dream about dating me. Me? Why would anyone dream about me? Did he dream about kissing me the way that I’ve dreamt about kissing him? If so then he’s got a lot more self-control than I do.

“What time is it?” Gerard asks and he grabs a pillow to hide his face. He looks so cuddly when he’s hiding and I honestly can’t tolerate how happy I am. He’s like a giant teddy bear. I just really want to hug him all the time.

I was going to murder him. I was actually going to murder this guy and now I’m in his bed. This is unreal. It’s so magical to be near him right now. I feel like it’s magical to be near him at any time. I’m going crazy being around him, but I’m okay with it.

“It’s like noon or something,” I answer him.

“I’m tired,” Gerard groans, and I smirk. I pull the pillow away and look down at him. He frowns up at me with tired looking eyes.

“Hi,” I say.

“You’re cute,” he says.

“Shut up.”

It starts to sink in again that I was going to kill this guy. I’ve killed so many people and for so little. I’m a murderer. A heartless murderer. I’ve killed other peoples Gerard’s. The way I feel about Gerard is the way someone probably felt about someone I killed, but I didn’t even consider that. I just shot.

My face must give away the epiphany because Gerard looks concerned and asks me if something is wrong.

“Um, I’m not sure,” I say.

“Is- is it me?” he asks looking dejected.

“No. No, not at all, I’m just thinking,” I reply, “...Gerard, I really like the person I am when I’m with you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I keep weaving in and out through so many different personalities, putting on masks and reciting stale dialogue, but I feel like I’m actually myself when I’m with you. For so long it’s felt like I’ve been drowning with only a straw to breathe through, but I’m not just treading water with you. I’m actually swimming. I’m actually breathing.”

He looks alarmed but blushes, “me?”

“Yeah. And I don’t know if you feel the same, and I don’t know if that matters, because what really matters here is that it’s becoming clear to me what kind of a person I am, and what kind of a person I have to be.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you how much you matter to me,” he whispers.

“Actually I’m fairly sure I would,” I say seriously. “I have to go.”

“What? Why?” He asks as I abruptly sit up and start to compose myself.

“I think I’ve finally figured out what I’m going to do, Gerard,” I say, “and it’s thanks to you that I’m capable of finally seeing what needs to be done.”

“Um, you’re welcome?” he answers, and I turn to him to give him a reassuring grin.

“You’re coming back though right?” he asks. “You’re not going to run away for two weeks and make me think I’m never going to see you again?”

“No, I’ll see you soon. Hopefully tonight or tomorrow, there’s just... there’s something I need to do. I need to take care of something.”

I walk out of his room quickly and pace towards the door. I feel adrenaline pumping through me, but I’m not sure if it’s from fear or eagerness. I do know what I have to do now, I wasn’t lying, it’s just that I’m afraid to do it. I’ve never taken such a huge step in my life, but this will go down in the record books.

I see Gerard sketchbook lying open on the kitchen counter and look down at it. There’s a dark haired man, who I recognize to be his villain, looking evilly at nothing with a gun in his hand, and it only reaffirms what I have to do.

I have to be someone Gerard can be seen with. As I am now, I’m no better than the villain in his comic book, and I know I can never be the hero, but I can at least be human. I’ve been a monster for a long time now, and it’s time to let that person go.

When I get home I do a little makeover. I wait out until the night falls several hours later and then I tear apart the hidden compartment in the floorboard. I grab the contents and shove everything into a box. Thankfully I live right next to a pier so I walk out of my apartment and down the street a little ways. For a long time I just stand on the dock looking up at the starless night.

I know this is a spur of the moment decision. I know that this is all because of Gerard. I know that I wouldn’t be doing this if it weren’t for yesterday. I know I’ll probably regret this, but I have to.

I can’t be an assassin. Not when I’ve seen what it’s like on the other side of the gun. I’ve seen the fear and I’ve felt the fear first hand and I can’t do that anymore. I may not stay with Gerard forever. I may just be experiencing puppy love, though I highly doubt it. I believe with all my heart that I want Gerard, but I can never be positive of that. What I am sure of though is that I’ve made other people feel this panic. I’ve made other feel this dread of having loved ones killed, and I can’t do that anymore.

Gerard is so special and the people I killed before I tried to hurt him could’ve all been this special. To someone they probably were. If this tiny little ray of love that I feel is anything compared to the years others gave those victims then I can’t fathom the hurt I’ve put the deceased’s families through. I’ve probably ripped out hundreds of hearts and didn’t bat an eyelash.

I know I’m being stupid and reckless, but I also know deep down that this is right. Having Gerard and being an assassin are to things that cannot coincide in my life. They’re not compatible with each other. I have to give up one for the other and I’m certainly in no place to turn Gerard away.

No, I’m doing the right thing. It may sting a little at first, but my reward is Gerard and that more than compensates.

If I can’t kill Gerard then I have no business killing anyone else. If I get to call Gerard my boyfriend then I can’t be a killer.

“For Gerard,” I say, and I drop the box down into the pier. My life’s work. Dead victim profiles, guns, bullets, and everything else. I watch the murky contents of the ocean swallow my collection. My heart feels a little pained because of how much hard work I’ve put into this job, but the rest of me is rejoicing.

I am no longer an assassin. I watch the personality of The Enigma sink below the surface leaving a trail of bubbles on the surface of the water. The part of me that lives in those guns dies with them as they drop, and for the first time I feel like Frank again.

This is my new beginning. This is my reawakening as an actual human again, and thanks to Gerard, I think I might just be able to do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadly, there won’t be an update tomorrow because I’m going to be too busy at COMIC CON MEETING KAREN GILLAN. (Okay so not "sadly" more like "amazingly").


	18. New Leaf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snooping through Gerard's stuff.

I guess some people are kind of creepy in the way that they are overly nosey. I’m a bit of a creepy person so I’m not going to pretend that I’m someone I’m not.

You know how some people look through all your cabinets, or browse through your emails and stuff? Well I’ve done both of those things to Gerard. In my defense I only looked through his emails to try to gather some information on who might be trying to kill him. It was a little weird, but I had a good reason! This time, I don’t really think I can call it justifiable. No, this time I’m just looking through his cabinets because I can.

It’s the second day since I retired from my job. I went to sleep after that then immediately when I woke up went to Gerard’s house and I haven’t left since I got here yesterday. There is a certain attachment one creates with a person when they try to kill someone and then decide not to and fall in love with them instead. It’s not exactly a common bond, I may very well be the only person who’s ever found themselves in this shit, but I’m okay with it. After all, the result of having Gerard is enough to do just about anything.

I would literally have done anything if I met this boy in high school. I was a bit of a loser in high school, not going to lie, always getting sick and a member of the D and D club. Yeah, I was a major loser, but it’s okay, because now I’m capable of lethally hurting you with a Q-tip. I’ve leveled out in the past few years, but if I had met Gerard whilst fighting evil Wyverns and Golems then I would absolutely have made myself look like an idiot trying to hang out with him. I was high for good portion of my teen years though so I might have been too preoccupied to notice him. He’s almost four years older than me so I’d have only known him as a freshman, but believe me, I was a dorky-ass freshman.

Something tells me my mother never intended me to end up killing people for a living, but she was always a woman who valued manners and by default that means the respect of people’s personal space. I don’t know if she’d protest more to me murdering people or me rifling through a guy’s sock drawer. I have done both in my life.

There really isn’t anything interesting in Gerard’s sock drawer in case you were wondering. By some odd coincidence, there are socks in his sock drawer. Who’d have thought? There are a few batteries in there which is weird, but it could be weirder. I guess I can be glad that he doesn’t have any porn hidden in his wardrobe. It could always be somewhere else, but it’s not in the most likely place so I’m glad that if he does have a secret porn stash hidden around here somewhere, at least he’s good at hiding it.

I should mention that he’s in the shower right now. I’m not just looking through his stuff right in front of him. It’s the middle of the afternoon sometime, we’d been awake for a little while, but we were watching Top Chef. I never knew how thoroughly captivating cooking shows are, but those things are literally as addicting as cocaine.

He’s got a huge pile of comic books in his closet. Quite a few graphic novels as well. He really likes the X-Men. Good to know. It doesn’t look like he’s a huge fan of Spiderman or some other superheroes because of the lack of copies, but I could be wrong. He might have more stacks of comic books somewhere else that I just don’t know about.

I’m actually glad to see that he’s not one of those guys who collects comic books and then seals them and never actually reads them. That always seemed so pointless and rude to me. I get that you want to keep your comics in nice condition and I understand that, but at the same time they were written to be read. The author didn’t write it just for it to end up in some airtight plastic container for its entire life. It’s a waste, in my opinion, so I’m happy that Gerard isn’t like that.

I don’t actually find anything interesting until I get to the shoebox under his bed. That’s always a touchy place to find things because it’s either incredibly boring, or it’s incredibly embarrassing.

I’m not going to say exactly what I found under there, but let’s just say that I’m a little more convinced of his sexuality. One of the things under there is a, shall we say... vibrating phallic shaped object? That could easily be an electronic toothbrush, but you know what I mean.

When the water turns off I have to stop snooping, so I put everything back in its place. My phone buzzes a few minutes later so I decide I might as well answer it. I guess I should’ve been expecting this particular call, but I’m a bit frazzled by it anyway.

It’s the editor of the magazine I wrote an article for. Part of me isn’t entirely convinced that what I did the other day really happened. It seem so long ago, and it just doesn’t seem at all possible. Being with Gerard had practically made me forget all about it. I forgot about my past, and about my decision, but it’s a life decision. Giving up my job is not just a move that will affect my work life, but it will affect my happiness, love life, work hours, and just about everything else.

It hadn’t occurred to me the other day that by quitting my job would mean that I’d need a new one. I have to get another job or else I won’t have money. I need money for rent and food and stuff, otherwise I wouldn’t bother.

This all seems to be happening so fast though. I’m barely someone’s boyfriend, I’m barely unemployed, and I’m barely human. Everything that’s happened is so recent. For a little while I just stare at my feet while the phone in my hand is eerily quiet except for subtle noises on the other end. Gerard sits down next to me a few seconds later smelling like flowers. He looks at me while I’m staring blankly into oblivion and trying to sort my life out, and I’m quiet for so long that it becomes ridiculous. I have to give them an answer otherwise I’ll miss out on this job opportunity, but I’m just so scared of leaping into a new life.

The whole point of getting rid of my guns was to start a new life, to quit the inhumane crap I’ve been in for three years, but it all just seems so surreal.

I know what my answer should be. I should say no. I should say no, and I should get out of this apartment to go buy a new arsenal, and I should go kill a guy. I should walk away from Gerard and his life, but it’s reached a point where we all know that’s not going to happen. I don’t think I’m physically or mentally capable of turning back now. For one thing, I don’t want to, and for another I actually feel like a human again and it’s a great feeling.

It’s like I was a zombie or some other monster that was just an echo of the real me. I was dead everywhere but in my trigger finger, and now that I’m not that person anymore, I can feel my own heartbeat. I can feel the air rush into my lungs making me real and it’s enough to make my whole head feel lopsided, but at the same time, I feel whole again.

Maybe it’s just because I’m reentering humanity with Gerard by my side, or maybe it’s just the voluntary act itself, but it feels possible. It feels like I’m actually going to make it.

“Yes. I’ll accept thank you,” I say. The person on the other end of the phone says a few things before I hang up, but I don’t pay attention to a lot of it. Something along the lines of having to negotiate a contract or something. That seem weird. For a long time a contract in my field is for a person’s head but this is a totally different thing.

“Who was that?” Gerard asks.

“I just got a new job,” I answer. He looks at me happily, and pecks my cheek.

“I’m glad I could be of some help.”

“You? What did you do?” I tease.

“Well I was interesting enough that an article about me seemed well written,” He says.

“Yeah, okay, sure. I have you to thank that I’m an amazing writer,” I reply.

“Egotistical much?”

I shrug and say, “Not at all. It’s not my fault that I’m gorgeous.”

“You’re not wrong there,” he answers. I’ve got to stop blushing around him or Gerard’s going to start to think that I’m related to a strawberry. I feel like I’m always acting like a dork in front of him. It’s a wonder that he actually likes me because I can’t even comprehend how much of an idiot I become when he’s around. I feel intoxicated by him whenever he smiles because I feel so unworthy of being around him. I keep getting jolts of bewilderment whenever I remember how lucky I am to get to know him. Knowing him is enough, but I’m quite fond of kissing him to.

Gerard decides that it’s late enough for dinner and I watch him get up to call for a pizza delivery.

I get a text from Mikey about an hour later with only one sentence, and I roll my eyes at the words.

“It looks like I would make a really great matchmaker.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god so Comic Con was amazing! Karen Gillan is just as sexy and adorable as she seems. James Marsters and Nathan Fillion are both hilarious (James Marsters talked about kissing John Barrowman on Torchwood as well as the time when Jensen and/or Jared grabbed his junk and it was just beautiful).


	19. I’m Not Going to Lie to You, This Is Porn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duuuuuuuude this is, like, really long.

I see his form in the dark lighting and his silhouette is beautiful. I can see the sharpness of Gerard’s jaw and the sparkle of light hitting his eyes. He looks so beautiful when he’s not trying to be. I don’t know how anyone could ever see him as anything other than the gorgeous person he is. I don’t understand how anyone could ever see him as a target.

I want to be closer to him and snuggle into him, but I don’t know how close we are yet. For me he’s the most special guy in the world, but I don’t know who I am to him. I hope he feels even a fraction of what I feel for him because my mind is an endless need to be near him.

I think for a moment before deciding to pretend I’m cold. If Gerard thinks I’m freezing it’ll be an excuse for him to wrap his arm around me. I’m devious, what can I say?

“Are you cold?” he asks. Worked like a charm. I nod slightly and he smiles, before grabbing my arm and tugging me nearer to him. He doesn’t have the strongest grip, but I go willingly so that his body is pressed against mine. Gerard’s heat radiates into me and makes my whole body feel tingly. I allow him to put his arm around my waist and I lean the side of my body into his chest. This feels so perfect I can’t even describe it.

It’s so dark in here that I can barely see anything other than the television screen, but the color refracts against the glass surface of a cup on the coffee table.

I don’t even remember when I put my head under his chin, and I’m not sure if I fell asleep or not, but when I wake up, I see the credits rolling down the screen and think that I must have. It feels kind of groggy or unreal so I try to move my arm only to realize that Gerard is still wrapped around me. He probably can’t move because of me so I lift my head and try to pull away from him a little bit.

He doesn’t tell me to stop, but he grabs my shoulder so I come to a stop anyway. It’s a silent signal for me to stop moving, so I look at him. The screen allows me to see him pretty well in the dark and I suspect he muted the credits because it’s silent of everything except my long breathing. Gerard’s breath is hard to make out, but I don’t care.

I’m not really sure what to do now because we’re both just kind of sitting here and looking at each other so I bring my arm up to place it on the side of his neck. I actually feel him shiver when I do this, and I can’t believe it’s just because I touched him. My hand isn’t cold so maybe my hand gives him the same electricity that his gives me.

“Frankie,” Gerard whispers to me.

I bite my lip at the nickname and he looks deeply at me. I feel like he’s trying to read my mind. He might be surprised to learn that the only thing on my mind is how fucking gorgeous he is.

I open my mouth to say something, though I’m not sure what I’m about to say, but he stops me by pulling me closer until my lips are pressed against his. I really hope my breath isn’t bad, but I forget to care after a few seconds.

On instinct my eyes had closed and I can’t help, but focus on the fact that this is Gerard. Not too long ago I was trying to kill him. Right now I’m in his apartment without a gun, and I’m... retired? This stupid idiot with red hair made me retire from my job just because of the way that he gets to me. I feel like a good person with him, and a bad person without him. It doesn’t make sense because he makes me realize how awful the things of my past are, and yet I’m still soothed by his presence.

I glide my hand upwards so that it’s on his cheek, and I can pull him closer to me without much effort. His face is pretty smooth with a few traces of stubble here and there, but I like it.

His hand is still on my waist from when he put it there who knows how long ago. I feel the hand try to move, but the absence of the warmth there makes my side freeze so I grab it and put it back in its spot. I don’t care where or when, but Gerard’s hands belong on me.

I’m not sure I’ve ever been in love, but I think I might be. I think the butterflies I get in my stomach whenever Gerard looks at me are a sign of the love I feel for him. They’re beginning to grow every time I see him and they now engulf my entire body. I feel like my heart warms up whenever I hear his voice. I feel like my hairs stand on end whenever he touches me, and I forget everything in the world when he kisses me.

I am lost in this kiss, and I have no map to guide me. I can’t even comprehend this emotion. It seems unreal. It’s not possible for someone to be this happy or content as I am right now. His nose nudges against mine when I tilt my head a little to deepen the kiss.

To be perfectly honest it’s been forever since I kissed anyone for this long. I bet we’ve been like this for a few minutes, but it doesn’t feel long enough. Eventually though the need to breathe reaches a critical level so I push my forehead against his to inhale. His nose really is pressed against mine now and I open my eyes to see him looking at me.

I feel jittery when I see the way he looks at me. He looks so warm. I don’t know how else to describe it. He just looks like a hearth of welcoming. Those hazel eyes are dilated, and I know mine are too. It’s dark in the room so it’s a natural reaction, but I can’t help but to think that both of our pupils are larger because of attraction. I know mine probably are at least.

I want him to put his hands all over me, or run them through my hair madly. I can’t think of anything that could make him more perfect.

His eyelids fall down slightly, like he’s looking down and then move back up to hold my gaze again. Gerard’s breath tangles with mine and the soft current of air feels like a blanket against my chin.

His hand on my side is rubbing circles into my shirt and I can feel the fabric being pulled up slightly by the process, but I assume it’s unintentional. The article hitches up to the point however that his finger makes contact with my bare skin.

My eyes close delicately at the feeling and his nose nudges against mine again until I feel his lips on mine. I try to kiss back, but he has other plans because he trails down my jaw slightly and doesn’t stop until his lips are at my neck. My neck is overly sensitive which makes the way his mouth moves along it especially carnal. It also makes me hyperaware of his touch. I can’t concentrate on anything and I’m pretty sure my head falls back a little bit exposing Gerard to more of my neckline.

His tongue darts into the crease of my collarbone and my breath hitches. There’s no way a person can legally be that skilled with their tongue.

I’ve decided that his hand on my middle cannot be there by accident, and the way he’s nudging his fingers under the hem of my shirt makes my skin crawl excitedly. I help him out a little and pull the fabric up my body further until his hand is on my torso.

The warm air on my neck combines with the feeling of suction to make me believe that I’m going to have at least a few hickeys tomorrow, but I’m more than okay with that.

Fingers start to trail up my body and under my shirt so I reposition myself to be in front of him the best that I can. I put a finger under his jaw and pull him up to kiss me again, missing the feeling of allowing his tongue to roam around my mouth. I’m trying to pretend that I’m not becoming turned on, and to do that I have to awkwardly angle my hips away from him.

I’m not aware of having taken the sides of his face in my hands, but one of my hands is pulled away by his and it guides me to get a grip on his hip which is dangerously close to another part of him.

It hadn’t occurred to me that I’m the one being prudish until Gerard not-so-subtly grabs my ass. I don’t know why I had thought a minute ago that I was _imagining_ the heat between us, but he makes me rethink our situation with that move.

I don’t know what part of me is in charge of this particular synapse in my brain, but it dawns on me that Gerard’s definitely not looking for just a make out session. Maybe I’ve been alone too long, but it never occurred to me that someone, Gerard especially, would actually want to be with me. I’m nothing special, and it’s unexpected, but I’m not one to protest. I think he’s sorely mistaken on the value of my personality, but I’m gaga for him.

Now I’ve had enough sex in my life to know that the feeling in my stomach cannot just be a result of our situation. I’ve never had that feeling before. It’s new. It’s a feeling like I want to be made love to and not just fucked. That must be Gerard’s effect on me.

I don’t know where to put my hands now. There doesn’t seem to be a neutral place to put them. I could be way too direct and weird him out or I could be sparing and there doesn’t seem to be an in between.

I pull my mouth away long enough to evaluate my situation. My eyes have adjusted to the dark enough that I can clearly make out Gerard. I’m sitting on the couch, but I don’t like the way that this makes me further from him.

I’m not a girl so this move is probably a hell of a lot weirder than it would be otherwise, but I go for it, and swing one leg around Gerard’s torso until I’m practically sitting on his lap while facing him. He looks fucking majestic.

I have a bit of a ‘holy shit’ moment when I also feel a very distinguishable erection in his pants. Did I do that? Must have.

Oh god am I taking advantage of him? I don’t know what that would even mean for me. I’m not exactly sure what Gerard is to me anymore. I do know that I’m falling in love with him. I hope it’s not cruel of me to like him, but it feels so natural. I mean he’s my boyfriend though?

He looks so nervous sitting there and looking up at me like that. Almost like he’s scared of being rejected. I couldn’t do that to him, not again. I run my hands through his silky hair and his eyes fall shut for a fraction of a second, but long enough for me to notice the effect on him.

I kiss him again, hungrily, looking for some way, _any_ way to get him to understand how much I like him.

He mumbles something into my mouth, but I don’t hear it.

He tries again, pulling at the bottom of my shirt and I decipher, “get this off.”

I break apart long enough for Gerard to get the shirt over my head. I try to go back and kiss him again, but he pushes me back lightly, to a point where I’m verging on falling, and he looks at me.

I realize that he’s never seen a lot of my tattoos before and the way his eyes scan my torso makes me wonder what he’s thinking.

“You’re like a piece of artwork, Frankie,” He whispers. “So beautiful.”

I feel a little embarrassed at the way he looks at me and when his eyes go back up to catch mine he smiles gently.

I don’t know how he’s able to form sentences right now, because I’m barely coherent when I say, “shirt... off. Now.”

I’m so glad he complies or that would have sounded so weird. His skin is a lot paler than I’d have ever thought. He practically glows with how colorless he is. His alabaster skin is soft to the touch and I can’t help, but fall a bit more in love after seeing him.

“Gerard you’re so pretty.”

“Shut up,” he says and grabs my neck to kiss me again.

“Make me,” I answer.

The look in his eyes is devilish. I was not aware of how strong Gerard is, but as it turns out, he is quite a bit stronger than he looks. He grabs me and pushes me back to my left and then splays me across the couch. Gerard climbs on top of me and clamps his knees around my waist. I look up at him and feel my heart flutter against my chest.

I can’t form a sentence if I tried, but I don’t need to because he kisses me eagerly. He doesn’t allow as much of a build up until the kiss becomes heated, but I’m fine with that. I can’t take my hands off him and neither can he. He’s just so warm. He’s the kind of warm that should be uncomfortable, but just ends up being cozy.

“Gerard?” I ask quietly.

He mumbles something when he starts kissing my neck and I forget what it is I was going to ask for a few seconds.

I recover the best I can and ask, “you okay with this?”

What can I say? I like to be sure, and I don’t ever want to hurt him.

“Definitely,” he replies.

“Okay, good. Then help me with my pants,” I say, and he snickers. How on earth did I just convince him to agree to be with _me_? Me! He’s hng and I’m more hag. He’s so amazing though that I don’t get too caught up on it.

I get the zipper down, but I can’t really take them off just yet with Gerard right there. I can feel him through his jeans and the fact that his jeans are there at all bothers me.

He tenses up when my hand gravitates downward and I realize something. The way he looks so nervous, the way he seems so unaccustomed to this, and the other less obvious signs. I don’t think Gerard’s ever done this before.

“Shit. Gerard are you... a virgin?”

He nods nervously. That is really surprising. How can a guy in his late twenties who’s this attractive still be a virgin? He’s way too good looking. And sweet.

If he allows me to, I will take care of that for him. I will take care of it several times for him just to be sure. I just really want to make sure it’s corrected.

I figure that I might as well just ask him if he’s cool with that.

“Do you want me to fix that for you?”

He looks like he’s trying not to laugh, but nods. Woohoo!

I don’t how I feel about taking away someone virginity. I’ve only ever done that once in my life and it was a mutual experience back in high school. Though I don’t know if you count hand jobs on the couch before his mom got home as losing your virginity.

Well whatever the situation I’m in right now, I don’t have any control over Gerard because he’s on top of me. I can fix that too.

Before I get a chance to though he takes his mouth away from mine and says, “bedroom.”

I get his message even though it’s just one word and he stands up. He then grabs my arm to pull me quickly off the couch and we run quickly into his room. As soon as the door closes behind me, I push Gerard onto his bed so that his legs fall off the side and I climb over him. Pants come off though I’m not sure whose are first.

My thumbs nudge under the hem of his boxers and I suddenly become more nervous than I think I’ve ever been before. This is Gerard. I’m absolutely crazy for him. What if I mess this up? What if I’m no good? Oh god, what if he hates it? Or the foulest thing imaginable, what if I hurt him?

“Frank?”

“Sorry, I’m just nervous.”

“ _You’re_ nervous?” he looks at me with shock. He probably thinks I’m lying or something, but I just don’t want to mess this up or worse.

He notices me hesitate so he does it himself and then he’s naked. Never thought I’d actually be here, but wow. I’m a little dumbstruck by the fact that this isn’t a fantasy or something. I’ve literally dreamed about being this close to Gerard and I don’t think I ever anticipated that it would ever happen.

“Come here Frankie,” he says and he brings me back to kiss him. I put my hands on his side, because I honestly feel so clueless right now. I feel like _I’m_ the virgin here, but I would rather him not know to what extent I’m worrying.

I guess I’ll go with confident since it doesn’t seem like I have many other options right now.

“So seeing as you’re a virgin, I’m assuming that you’ve never had anyone suck you off before have you?”

Gerard turns the color of his hair which is quite gratifying for me because he’s been doing that to me since we met.

“Well I guess you’re lucky than because I’m pretty good,” I say with a wink. Like I said, I’m not new to this, and I really want to impress Gerard. I’m not sure if impress is really the right word. I want to hear him. I really want to hear him moaning, and I want to know that I’m the one making him do it. I’ve never really cared about that before now, and to be perfectly honest I’ve always been self-conscious about making noise myself, but this is Gerard and I came to the conclusion long ago that nothing I know about the world applies when he’s with me.

Not going to lie, I like sucking cock. Lots of people don’t and not so many people do, but I can guarantee you that all guys like being on the receiving end. There’s really nothing to say about it besides, I enjoy it. It’s satisfying to know what you’re making someone feel and there are other reasons too, but that’s my favorite part. I guess girls don’t really have as much of an understanding and that’s why they aren’t as keen about it, but a guy knows precisely what it feels like so he knows just how horny he’s making the other person.

As soon as I put my mouth around Gerard he takes a sharp breath and I try to remember what it’s like being a virgin. It was a while ago now so I don’t entirely understand what it must be like, but I’m sure it’s quite nice to have your first blow job. A little weird maybe?

Whatever the case I could stay here until he’s done, but I don’t want him to finish so soon. Being a virgin and all, he’s not got as much stamina as myself, but I can make this last for a little while longer and that’s the only reason why I stop and pull off of him a minute later.

“Why’d you stop?” he asks and I giggle at the expression on his face.

“There’s more fun to be had,” I answer. He nods and I can tell he’s extremely nervous.

Boys are always taught the horror stories of gay sex and that’s probably what he’s dwelling on right now. I don’t know what to tell him. It’s worth it? I mean it is, but he doesn’t know that yet. I’m going to show him, but I do understand how scary it can be.

I decide to play dumb because Gerard doesn’t need to know that I looked through his stuff so I ask, “Do you have any-“

“Yeah, hold on,” He says and he reaches under the bed. I pretend not to know what’s under there and he comes up with a bottle. I don’t know if I should be nervous though. I mean, he’s not exactly inexperienced if the contents of that shoebox was anything to go by, but it’s a lot different when you’re with another person. It’s a little more nerve-racking because there’s someone else there. That’s one more person to look after, or to disappoint if things go wrong.

It has been a while since I last got laid though. I inadvertently became abstinent when I met Gerard and before that it had been a few months so I’m a bit out of practice, but he hopefully won’t be able to tell.

Self-confidence is a bitch because I’m way more nervous than I should be to undress. Like, yeah I could look worse, but no one really likes the way they look do they? Gerard’s really pale, more so than I gave him credit for, but I guess I can accredit some of that to the fact that he’s been hauled up indoors for a few weeks. He doesn’t have anything to worry about in the looks department. If he doesn’t see that then I don’t know how to tell him that he’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen up close.

“Gerard are you... I mean, you sure?” I ask. I’m probably starting to sound annoying, but I am so mortally terrified of hurting him. It’s the last thing I would ever want to do. Odd because I tried to kill him.

He rolls his eyes, “yes, I’m sure.”

I guess there’s no noticeable fear in his eyes, so maybe I making that part up myself. Why am I so fucking scared? He should be scared, not me.

I nod and take the bottle of lube from him. I’m not sure how I’m going to do this. Gerard’s biting his lip and I notice that we’ve moved ourselves to a more convenient spot on the bed so that his head is on the pillow and I’m looking down at him.

I tease his legs apart and then I sort of lie down next to him, on my side to look at him. It’s a little dark in here with only the light from the lamp on his bedside, but I like it better this way. I don’t feel overly exposed or anything in this lighting, and he looks pretty magnificent. He always does, but this lighting is particularly good for his complexion.

He gives me a silent okay with a nod of his head so I take three fingers and coat them generously. I’ve never been one for stinginess. He buries his head into my shoulder which is soothing and this way I don’t worry as much about him seeing how uneasy I am.

It’s not that I don’t want to do this, I do, it’s just that I don’t want him to regret it. It’s a really big amount of pressure to trust someone with your virginity and he’s trusting me. No one’s ever trusted me that much before.

Gerard bites my shoulder when I prod one finger inside of him so I stop immediately to wait for his say so. I’m not overly bossy so I do need his input here almost as much as I need my own.

“Okay,” he says quietly, and I start to move my finger carefully. He’s definitely not completely new to this which is comforting, but that doesn’t mean he’s totally unfazed. It’s a lot different doing it yourself then when another person does it. One finger becomes two and I feel a little better about it because he adjusts quicker.

Gerard grabs a hold of my member after that and I rasp before allowing myself to moan a little into his hair. He still smells like shampoo, and it keeps me grounded during the process.

My final finger joins the other two and he’s still pretty calm which amazes me. Maybe I was just an unusually petrified adolescent, but he’s about a million times less awkward then I had been. We’re not going to get into specifics, but I’m starting to wish that I had maybe done a little more practicing beforehand as Gerard clearly has.

There’s no real reason to prolong it now so I ask Gerard with a raise of my eyebrow and he nods. I sit up slightly and position myself between his legs, pulling his thighs around my waist. I’m not sure whose breathing is heavier at this point.

I make sure to be as gentle as I can, and position my cock at his entrance. Cautiously, I push in.

“Oh god,” he says and his eyes close. I can barely think either because everything about this scenario is amazing. Gerard’s face, to the sweaty skin glistening on his forehead, and just the heat of Gerard around me. I can’t believe this is him and me. This is Gerard. I feel elated at that fact.

His body protests to me at first, but I push further into him until I can’t move any more. He looks uncomfortable, but there’s really not that much I can do about it right now. I just have to wait for him to tell me to either stop or go. Red light or green light.

I get a green light in the form of a nod so I obey. Gerard groans, but he doesn’t tell me to stop so I take things slowly.

“Faster,” Gerard whispers. I’m not sure about that so I keep my speed at relatively the same as before until he repeats his word.

Right now it’s just important to find that spot. As soon as I find it he’ll be much better off, and it’ll be better for the both of us. I’m stuck worrying about it so that I can hardly focus on how good my body feels right now.

“Fuck! Th-there,” he says and I let out a little breath of relief. At least I’m not totally bad at this because as soon as I get that response it’s easier to find his prostate again. I wasn’t wrong when I guessed that he would sound beautiful because his answering moan gives a fairy its wings. I bite back a moan myself until I can’t anymore.

After a moment of glee at the fact that I made him whine like that I recover myself and push back in a little harder which receives a welcoming response.

“Harder,” he says followed by, “more.”

I would have trouble challenging his order on any given day but there’s no way that I can right now. The look on his face is enough to make me want to give him anything he asks for. It’s euphoric, and it’s contagious.

“Frank, oh god,” he says frantically, and I’m pretty sure he’s almost there. I grab ahold of his cock and it doesn’t take long until he’s cumming beneath me. He held longer than I would’ve and I bite my lip hard at the sight of pleasure on his face.

I don’t stop, and I thrust harder looking for my own climax and he writhes under me looking ravenous. I’m better at holding on which isn’t exactly idea right now, but I don’t rest.

It takes me a little less than a minute to feel the prickly sensation on the back of my neck, and as soon as I do feel it I know what’s about to happen. I orgasm a moment later inside of him and my whole body fills with ecstasy. I lose myself for few seconds, but when I find my body again it’s still leaves a buzzing sensation. I look down at Gerard looking content with his eyes closed and his mouth open.

I look down at him for a few seconds before pulling out because I’ve become oversensitive. I decide to lie down next to him and rest the side of my head against his. I pull the blanket over us to cuddle into him and he hums softly without opening his eyes.

I’m no expert, but I’d say that was nearly perfect. I guess I’m just surprised that he was so good and accepting for a virgin.

It would be so generic to tell him I love him now, and it wouldn’t feel as sincere. The first ‘I love you’ can’t be right after sex because that would be horribly impersonal. I need to wait for a better time than now, when he knows I love him for other reasons besides the physical.

I am fairly certain though that I do love him. I don’t know what else this feeling could be. I understand that I’m still burning off the feeling of climax, but I knew before that that’s what this was.

I’ve never said I love you before but I’ve never had a person to say it to. I’m not at all dejected with the idea that I’ll be giving that first to Gerard. He deserves it more than he knows.

I feel languid and happy just snuggling next to him, and he opens his pretty hazel eyes to look at me brightly. It’s like he has miniature stars living in his eyes because of the warmth they bring to my body.

I don’t feel as tired as I thought I would because I’m so full of adrenaline from what just happened. It was pretty amazing though. It’s about five minutes later when I decide to talk so I ask the first thing that’s on my mind.

“So virginity, why’d it take so long to lose?” I ask.

Gerard shrugs, “it never felt like the right time. Never the right person.”

“Does that make me the right person?”

He nods and I feel like I’m filled with rainbows. That may be the most amazing thing anyone’s ever told me before. Why on earth does he like me? I guess I should be glad that it’s mutual, but it just doesn’t make sense.

His cell phone starts to ring a second later, but it’s in the living room so it’s very faint. I feel way too relaxed to go get it and Gerard apparently feels the same.

“Ugh, I’m way too lazy to get that,” He says, “if it’s important enough they’ll call the landline.”

Evidently it is important enough because the phone on his bedside rings a minute after the other one stopped. I’m closer to it so I grab the phone and hand it to him.

He takes it from me and presses the answer button. The speaker is loud enough so that I can hear the person on the other end pretty clearly.

“I’m looking for a Gerard Way?”

“Speaking,” Gerard answers.

“This is the NYPD, we have some good news and some bad news.”

Gerard frowns, “okay? I’ll take the good news first then.”

“We’ve caught the person hiring assassins to kill you,” the man answers. Gerard smiles and he looks at me happily. I feel pretty damn amazing after hearing that. I literally feel my heart stop hurting with instant relief. They found him. They found him! This is amazing. I would be lying if I said that this isn’t the greatest news I’ve heard in years.

I don’t even know if it’s possible to be happier. I just slept with Gerard which was fantastic, and now Gerard’s attempted killer has been caught. Now Gerard and I can be together without worrying. We can just be together. Nothing stopping us. I wonder faintly who it was that was trying to kill him, but it doesn’t matter so long as Gerard’s safe.

After a month of searching for this guy, and even longer knowing Gerard, he’s finally safe. It feels so good to know he’s safe. I can’t even believe it. The weight is gone, and I feel free. If I feel this good then there’s no telling how good Gerard must feel.

“Wait, what’s the bad news then?” Gerard asks and he pulls me out of my mental celebration. I forgot momentarily that there’s bad news as well.

“You’re not going to like this,” the guy says.

“Well I’ll be the judge of that, tell me what the bad news is. Who was trying to kill me?”

The man clears his throat and says, “The person who hired the assassins, who we’ve just brought into custody is Mikey Way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry, oh god. Trust me though, this story is NOT done. I’m not positive how many more chapters I need to tell the whole thing, but I think it’s safe to say that it’s quite a few. So tell me: are we more mad at Helena then we are happy with her, or does the rest of the chapter make up for that last bit?


	20. Trust Exercises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank doesn't know what to believe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come now, you think I’d actually make it that easy? There was no build up! Why would I build you up for nineteen chapters and then make it so plain? I’m not saying Frank’s right about Mikey or anything, but please, have a little faith.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Gerard says into the receiver. I’m right there with him. Mikey? Seriously? And I suppose his partner in all of this was the Easter Bunny then.

He sits upright quickly and I position myself to be level with him. His eyebrows are furrowed together and I think mine are too.

“Sir, we have evidence,” the guy answers.

“Like hell you do!” Gerard answers, “in case you’d forgotten Mikey’s my brother. He wouldn’t do that, I’m more certain than you can imagine.”

“We have evidence that any trial would-“

“Fuck your trial, it’s not him!” Gerard says.

“We can’t really take your word for it. This is a criminal investigation and the proof is there.”

Gerard is boiling and I can’t say I blame him. I’m almost one hundred percent sure that note wasn’t in Mikey’s handwriting. Mikey isn’t a killer, I would know. Besides, the only emotion I’ve ever seen from Mikey towards Gerard was compassion. He and Gerard get along better than any siblings I know! He gave me dating advice. What kind of a murderer tells someone to go for it with the guy their trying to kill? What kind of a murderer would make sure his target stayed indoors? What kind of a murderer would make the guy he’s trying to kill wear a bulletproof vest? What kind of a murderer would do everything in his power to keep his target alive?

No, Mikey didn’t do this. I’m positive.

“Well you fucking should take my word! He didn’t do it. I would bet my life on it. He’s not that type of person, and even if he was, I’m the last person he’d kill.”

“Sir I’m not trying to anger you, I’m just relaying the information,” he says.

“This is bullshit, I’m coming to see him,” Gerard says.

“You’ll have to settle with a phone call,” he says.

“Fuck that. I’m his brother I want to see him!”

“Until he’s transferred to a different facility you can’t see him,” the man says.

“Well he shouldn’t be transferred to another facility because he’s not a fucking murderer!”

“If you could watch your language-“

Gerard flares his nostrils angrily, “Oh this is mild compared to what I want to be saying. Where is he now? When is he being moved? Has he seen a lawyer?”

“He’s refused to talk until he’s seen a lawyer, but he’s in a holding cell right now. We won’t be moving him until he seeks council,” the man replies calmly.

“Well I’ll get him a lawyer then,” Gerard says. “Can I call him now?”

“He can call you.”

“Fine. Tell him to call me, and tell him to flip off the guy that arrested him for me,” Gerard says. He hangs up a minute later after the guy says he’ll tell Mikey to call. He says nothing about telling Mikey to flip anybody off though.

“This is so fucked up,” I say, and even that’s an understatement. Gerard falls back in bed after sitting up and he looks so done. I don’t want to think about how awful this is. I’m positive it’s not Mikey, and I bet Gerard is too.

I look down at him and he looks so upset and miserable. I don’t know what to do now. A minute ago it had been the best day of my life and now I feel like everything is falling apart. It’s only ten at night, so we didn’t even make it through the entire day without everything being spoiled.

“You believe that Mikey’s innocent right?” Gerard asks looking terrified. It hits me like a hammer that Gerard isn’t sure. That must be the worst feeling in the world for him. He doesn’t know. He wants to believe it, but he doesn’t actually know what to believe and it kills me to see that fear. He doesn’t know for certain that the note was genuine, but I do. That seems to be the key piece of evidence in his defense, but there really isn’t any way to be sure it’s real.

“Of course I do Gerard. I know he’s innocent,” I say as sincerely as I can. I brush a hair out of his eyes and he looks ready to cry. I can’t bear this look on him. I know Mikey didn’t do this. He loves Gerard so much, and there’s just no way that he’d ever do anything like this.

The phone rings again, and it fills the silence like a knife. I grab for it when Gerard doesn’t move, and I hand it to him, but he looks petrified.

He puts the phone down on the pillow next to him and presses the answer button then puts it on speaker.

“Hello?”

“Gerard!” Mikey’s voice says.

“Hey Mikes, I heard what happened,” Gerard croaks.

“I know. You know I didn’t do it right? Gerard, you know I wouldn’t do that.”

Gerard doesn’t answer immediately so I interject, “We know Mikey. We know you didn’t do any of this. Gerard’s just really upset.”

“I promise,” he says softly and he’s probably more scared then Gerard, “I couldn’t.”

“Mikey, why do they think you did do it though? What evidence do they have?” I ask him. Gerard’s looking up at the ceiling blankly and I don’t even know if he’s listening.

“They found, like, um transcripts of letters to the assassin or something. They also found one of the guns used to shoot Gerard in my closet! I don’t even have a gun. It’s not mine! Someone put it there. Someone broke in and planted it there. I swear,” Mikey says.

“Oh god,” I say, “don’t worry I believe you.”

This is terrifying. I never got arrested for stuff I _did_ do and now Mikey’s been arrested for something he _didn’t_ do. This is absolutely mortifying. I don’t know how to prove he’s innocent. I know it, but I’m just the boyfriend of the brother of the accused. Who would listen to me?

“This is a nightmare, Frank,” Mikey says and he sounds hurt.

He might realize what’s going through his own brothers’ head so I kick Gerard and he looks back at me looking worried.

Gerard seems to understand my message and says, “Don’t worry Mikey. We know you’re innocent, and we will do everything possible to make those dunderheads see that.”

“What if you can’t prove it though? I’m such an obvious suspect and now they’ve got fake proof!”

“You are not going down for this Mikey. Do you hear me? You are innocent and they are going to see that!” Gerard says.

“But what if there’s no proof of that?” Mikey asks.

“There is. There has to be. There’s no such thing as a perfect crime,” I say, “one way or another the real killer has to have made a mistake.”

“You can’t know that,” Mikey says hopelessly.

“I do know that, trust me Mikey,” I say.

“Trust you? Frank, how do you know you can even trust me? I didn’t do this, but I could’ve!”

“There’s nothing more I can say than the fact that I’m positive you’re innocent,” I answer grimly.

“Me too Mikes,” Gerard adds, “I’ll get you a lawyer, okay? You’ll get through this.”

Mikey doesn’t say anything for a minute or two and the quiet is painful. Gerard’s trying not to cry and I’m trying not to spill the beans. There’s nothing about my former employer that I can say that won’t incriminate me. What I do know about him is that he isn’t Mikey. Mikey is too good for that. If he had a beef with anyone, especially his own brother, he’d tell them. He wouldn’t try to kill them.

We hang up with Mikey a minute later after Gerard promises to get the best attorney money can buy. Gerard’s got a good income so I imagine that money is no object.

“Mikey can’t have done this,” Gerard says. “Think about it. Who would buy that comic book? No one! It’s so bland, and obvious. There’s no twist. There has to be a twist!”

“Life isn’t a comic book, Gerard.”

“But all the best villains are based on real people. Mine all are! I wouldn’t be able to sell a story like this. The villain has to be someone like that.”

I don’t say anything as I consider his words. If Gerard is the victim who else would be the villain if all the signs point one way?

“How do we prove he’s innocent? He has to be!” Gerard asks and his eyes are pleading for me to pull an answer out of a hat.

“We have to find the real person behind this. Or we have to find a reason that proves Mikey couldn’t have done this. We have to check everything! Where would he get the money to pay for an assassin? What reason would he have to kill his own brother? How would he have known how to even hire an assassin?

“And we have to get people to check his apartment too. Wipe for prints. See who originally bought that gun they found. And why would Mikey even have that gun if he was hiring an assassin? There’s so many holes in their evidence.”

“What am I going to do if we can’t clear him Frank?” Gerard asks.

“Don’t worry. We will,” I tell him and he tries to nod, but a first tear spills from his eye. I grab him and pull him into me so that hopefully he feels more assured. I feel tears drip onto my shoulder, but I don’t say anything about it.

I wish I really did know who hired me though. I wish I’d asked for a name or something. I guess I can just be glad that they don’t know who I am. Anonymity is always the key and it looks like it’s saving my ass, but it’s forfeiting Mikey’s. If that person is framing Mikey then they can’t know who The Enigma really is then. If my client knew who I really was then I’d be the one behind bars right now.

I just don’t believe Mikey could do this. How could he? Why would he? If only I knew who was really behind this than I could let the whole thing rest. I don’t know though. I don’t even know if I’m wrong about Mikey. He seems so sincere, but I don’t know him _that_ well. He could just be a really good actor.

What about that note though? That wasn’t Mikey’s handwriting. That’s all I have to hold onto right now. Whoever wrote that letter, whoever hired The Enigma, that’s who we’re after. Not Mikey.

Everything was so good. Everything was starting to seem right. How did it all go to shit so quickly?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So to conclude what we know: Mikey might’ve been framed. What do you guys think, is Mikey innocent, or is he playing Frank?


	21. Shit Goes Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about all these damn cliffhangers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for what you are about to read.

“This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. This is worse than being shot at multiple times. This is worse than fainting in my public speaking class in ninth grade. This is worse than walking in on my boss having an affair.”

I stop him and ask incredulously, “you walked in on your boss having an affair?”

“Well I told you that the villain in my comic book was based on a twisted son of a bitch, didn’t I?”

“I can see why you left that job,” I answer.

“Among other reasons. That was the last job I had before my comic book hit it off,” Gerard says. He’s looking a little better after sleeping, but he still looks uneasy. There’s no way for me to understand what he’s going through. I’ve never been almost assassinated before, and I don’t have a brother so it’s completely alien to me. What I do know is that Gerard is upset by it so I’m upset by it. Also I kind of like Mikey, he seems nice. A little quiet, but nice.

Mikey calls again a little after lunchtime and he reports back what’s happened. You wouldn’t be able to tell what time it is though because the sky is a dark and greyish blue with obvious signs of oncoming rain.

As it turns out, not much has happened.

“They said that I faked that note to the assassin or something,” Mikey explains, “said I had a friend write it to throw them of their course. Apparently that’s obstruction of justice as well as conspiracy to commit murder, but I didn’t do either of those things.”

“What do they think your motive is?” I ask.

“Jealousy? I don’t know, I didn’t do anything!” he says.

“Well do they have an explanation for why you’d have the gun? Why would you have the gun if you hired an assassin?” Gerard questions.

“Apparently I asked for a gun so I could do it myself? I don’t know, but that’s the plot they’re floating by me now.”

“That’s stupid. This is all speculation, how do they plan to hold you on purely speculation?” Gerard asks.

“I don’t know, but they’re going to try. I think they said they can’t hold me for more than 24 hours without more solid proof, but they’re pretty confident that they can find some. I think what they were doing was running fingerprints or something.”

“Okay, well had you ever touched that gun?” I ask him, “if you touched it then they’ll find your fingerprints, but if you didn’t then there’s nothing linking it to you.”

“No, I’d never seen it before they showed it to me.”

“Tell me exactly what happened then. Why did they arrest you in the first place?”

“Um,” Mikey says and he starts thinking, “okay well I got home and the lock was broken on my door, okay? So I went in and I didn’t know if anything was missing or anything, so I called the police before I did anything at all.”

“Well that’s good at least, you didn’t touch anything?” I ask.

“Not much,” he replies, “Maybe the door knob, but other than that I left everything alone.”

“Okay, they might find prints if whoever broke in was an amateur,” I say, and Gerard looks at me puzzled. I realize that I’m way too knowledgeable about all this than I should be.

“Uh, I watch a lot of cop shows,” I say to Gerard and I hope it’s convincing. “What happened after they got there?”

“Well there was only one police officer and he came in to file a report or whatever and he looked around quickly. That’s when he found the gun in one of my drawers, and I didn’t know it was there. He like, asked me if it was registered or something, and when I told him it wasn’t even mine, he told me to go down to the station. They looked through my home while I was there and then told me they found the messages to and from an assassin on my computer.”

I think for a minute and then say, “Well if those messages were downloaded off of a flash drive or something then they’ll have a time stamp. It should show that they were new, and weren’t sent from your computer originally.”

“They’re checking that now,” Mikey tells me, “said that it takes a little while to check those sort of things. Same with fingerprints.”

“Just keep quiet and listen to whatever the lawyer says,” Gerard instructs.

“Okay,” Mikey says, and then he’s rushed away from the phone a minute later.

“That’s good then?” Gerard asks, “Mikey didn’t touch that gun, so he can’t be connected to it? And those files? Those weren’t his, so...?”

“I mean, I’m just trying my best here,” I have no clue how to help him though. I wish I did.

“Well his building has camera’s right? They must’ve caught the break in then, right?”

“No I-” shit. I broke the cameras when I broke in myself, and I doubt they were ever fixed. What do I say to finish that sentence that doesn’t tell him exactly why they won’t help?

“I don’t think that they will, um, have any use. I mean I highly doubt that they were aimed directly at Mikey’s apartment,” it’s an okay recovery, but I wish I hadn’t almost worked myself into the corner with that one. I have to be more careful with what I say.

“Right about now would be a great time for someone to shoot me then, because then Mikey would be cleared.”

“Gerard, don’t say that!” I tell him. The very idea of him being shot makes my skin crawl, and I’ve done it twice.

“Well why would someone point the finger at Mikey?” Gerard asks after a few minutes. “What purpose does it solve to implicate my brother?”

“Well if I wanted to hurt you, and I didn’t think that I could actually kill you then I’d make things as bad for you as I could,” I tell him. “Mikey is the closest person in your life so if they can’t actually kill you then it seems like the next best thing is to hurt you.”

“They succeeded in that then,” Gerard says. “The only thing that could make this worse is if they hurt you as well.”

I blush a little at the fact that I mean enough to him that it would hurt him for me to be gone. That would definitely make things worse though so he’s not wrong.

“So do you think they’re going to try to stop killing me then?” Gerard asks.

“If Mikey is convicted then I’d say probably. Otherwise they’d be vindicating his innocence. He can’t really pay the assassin if he’s in prison, and the assassin would have no reason to keep trying to kill you if he can’t get paid. At least that’s what the cops will think.”

“This is awful,” Gerard says, and his head falls against the counter.

“I know, Gerard,” I say rubbing his back, “I’m so sorry you’re going through this.”

“It’s not your fault,” he answers with a strangled voice. It kind of is, but I don’t tell him that.

“Hey Gerard, it’s okay. We’ll clear Mikey up. I know it.”

He doesn’t say anything but I hear him sniffle so I suspect he’s crying again. I have no way to show him I’m sure, but I hope he knows how much I care about him.

The worst news comes an hour later though. The computer they found with the messages on it has the time stamps, but they’re from a month ago. They match up with the times when Gerard was shot. It’s not Mikey’s computer at all. It’s a stolen computer so there’s no way to trace it back to someone else. They now have proof that those messages were sent from that computer and we have no proof that it wasn’t Mikey who sent them. We have no proof that it isn’t even Mikey’s computer. And who knows, maybe it _is_ Mikey computer.

“Gerard, I’ll go make some coffee. Then we can think about what to do, okay?” I say.

“Ran out of coffee,” he mumbles.

“Alright well I’ll go pick some up and be back in a few. You stay here and make a list of anybody who could have framed Mikey.”

He nods noncommittally to that, so I get up and kiss him on the cheek before leaving his apartment.

I walk down the steps quickly and out the front of his apartment. The sky is still dingy, and I hope I’m not going to need an umbrella. I get all the way to the corner before things get weird.

The next thing that happens is all so quick that I don’t even know if it’s real or not. It doesn’t seem real, but I think it is.

A dark black van pulls up to the curb right in front of me. Before I can react to its presence a masked man jumps out and he’s on me in a flash.

I try to yell or do something, but a cloth comes to my mouth and it blocks out the sound. I don’t know what to do! He’s got me in a chokehold with the material at my mouth. I try to scream, but I just end up sounding muffled and I can’t get a breath.

I struggle for a moment and then start to feel tired. My fingertips go numb swiftly and the rest of me feels like it’s been sitting in a dentist chair with a bit too much nitrous oxide. It smells kind of weird. Kind of chemically and pungent. It’s almost sweet smelling.

Is that chloroform?

I don’t have any more time to think about it before I drop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for what you have just read.


	22. The Inevitability of a Visit from the Reaper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is kind of dejected but I think it's well written.

Surely I’m unconscious if the images floating around my eyes are anything to go by. I think it’s a mixture of reality and dream though. There’s Gerard sleeping in the space next to me and he looks like an angel. I pull him closer to my body, but when I reach for him he’s not there. There’s nothing there and this is what pulls me into some variety of consciousness, but it’s hazy. There’s the grey interior of a van, but no seats in the back where I think I’m lying. There’s a person in the driver’s seat in front of me, but I can’t see him clearly. He’s not wearing a seat belt though. Shame on him.

As soon as I get that glimpse of reality I’m back in a dream. An unmasked man laughing evilly at something, who has tied me to a large pillar with my hands bending uncomfortably around it. I recognize him from somewhere, but I don’t know where just yet. His hair is brown, but greying and his face shows very little sign of any laugh lines. If he smiles a lot then his face hasn’t gotten the memo because he’s definitely an older craggy guy, but the missing lines lead me to believe that he’s not a fun person to be around. I don’t like the way he stands there looking all jaunty.

His eyes catch mine and a cold heartless brown, deeper than any color I’ve ever seen, meets my own. There’s even a hint of ruby in his eyes like a demon. They’re terra-cotta and thirsty for death. His eyes aren’t beautiful in the slightest. There isn’t a heart in those eyes. The soul is missing and it feels cold. Some part of me understands that he doesn’t have a soul at all. It’s not something you can see it’s something you have to feel. This man is remorseless and evil to the core. He doesn’t have a solid shape other than the simplistic etching of him in front of me.

I fight against the bindings, but all it does is give me a real pain in my wrist that pulls me back to some sort of veracity.

I’m in a car again. The sky outside isn’t visible because clots of rain flood the window. There’s a small little trail of drops that are falling into the van because the door isn’t completely insulated. There’s a figure but I can’t quite understand his form because my head is throbbing. I do think that this is real though. I think this is actually happening around me, but I just can’t hold onto it. My eyes roll up back into my head and I’m drowning.

I actually feel water filling my lungs. The water is black and cold. There’s no light at all. I feel like light itself is a myth. There is nothing but this blackness and I’m scrambling at the water around me. Searching for something. I’m searching for something to bring me some sort of refuge or something to clue me into what’s going on. I’m resisting the urge to just let myself give up and drown. The water is starting to burn but I keep taking breaths hoping that one of them will be filled with air. None of them are, and all I can do is flail in my liquid prison scrambling for some relief. I need _air_.

My hand finds flesh and I grab at it. Someone’s hand is in mine and it’s tugging me upward toward the surface. Farther and farther I’m pulled all the while holding my breath. The arm is pulling me farther then it could possibly have reached so I know that this can’t be real and yet it feels so genuine.

My head breaks the surface and I take a long breath. I’ve never been this hungry for oxygen before but my chest is aching and my entire existence is relying on these sallow little huffs.

I look around my surrounding to see where I am and I don’t understand how I got here. I was just underwater but now I’m in a park, with the smell of grass flooding my prying heaves. Its night and I can’t see anything through natural light because the sky is blank. It’s not just New York City blank from air pollution, it’s completely void. There isn’t a twinkle of a star or a moon, it’s just oblivion. The only thing that allows me to see is a lamppost in front of me giving of buttery light and illuminating only my immediate backdrop.

All I see is grass, but it’s so dark that it looks black. I know somehow that I’m in Central Park though there’s nothing telling me of this. It could be any old park but it’s not. I know where I am, I just don’t know how I know.

I turn to look for whoever saved me and I see him.

It’s Gerard, pallid skinned and bruised. He looks like he just got in a fight with, cuts across his face and arms. He’s breathing even harder than I am, but he’s not wet. I’m still wet from my little swim in existential obscurity, but he’s completely dry apart from mangled sweaty hair on his head. The red seems to be dripping from his hair like its rain and it’s terrifying. It’s like red paint falling off the strands of his locks and soaking into the earth below us.

“Gerard?” I ask and his head darts up, but he’s not looking at me.

Instead he’s looking at something behind me like there’s a monster there. My head turns slowly to look at it, and I get a feeling in my gut like the one in a horror movie. I know there’s something bad there, but I can’t help but to look anyway.

What I see isn’t as terrifying as I was expecting. It’s just a man. The same man who’d been laughing at me. The one without laugh lines. The only practice with humor that could cross his face is when he’s laughing at causing someone’s pain. He’s looking at Gerard with venom in his eyes.

There wasn’t a gun in his hand a minute ago, but the man pulls a gun into my eye sight and panic floods me. I don’t recognize the model but it’s larger than a pistol and smaller than a shotgun. He aims it right at me and I feel dread wash over me. I’m about to die. He’s going to kill me.

I close my eyes and wait for the impact. With any luck it’ll be a head shot so that I don’t have to feel anything and I’ll just be gone.

A bang fills the empty room and I flinch, but no pain comes over me. Maybe I’m still numb from the icy water, but I don’t think so. I blink my eyes open and the man isn’t there so I turn and that’s when I see Gerard lying in the grass, bleeding.

He’s hemmed into a pool of his own blood, but it’s far too bright to be natural blood. It’s the same color of the dye in his hair. Far too red, almost vermillion. It practically glows, but it _is_ Gerard’s blood and he _is_ dying.

He’s gasping for air, with the heaves of his chest looking painful. I crawl over to him quickly and look down at his discoloring body. All the light from him is fading at a record speed, until I wrap my body around his and his breathing stops altogether.

“No,” I whisper into his neck, “you’re not dead, Gerard.”

I tell him that simple plea, but his heart doesn’t start beating and his eyes don’t gain any life. I don’t even care that I’m swathed in a tarn of his blood, because my body feels worse than it had when I was drowning. My eyes blink out tears by the dozen and I can’t feel anything other than the briskly cooling body in my arms.

When I do manage to make some sense of my vision I see two shoes facing toward me. They’re wading in the redness so my eyes venture slowly up to look at the person inside them who’s above me, but I already know who’s there. It’s the man again.

When my eyes finally reach his face I see a grin. It’s like raw malevolence personified into this one man. This man is evil.

Behind him I see another body. I can’t make out more than a foot and the leg it’s attached to which has been left limply jutting out in the dirt. The leg is thin and long. It’s Mikey’s foot. No longer twitching, and no longer linked to a living person.

I’m looking at the corpses of both the Way’s with their murderer standing above me.

“Go on then,” I tell him, “kill me too.”

He doesn’t say anything but he holds the same gun up to my head and I feel the barrel against my forehead. I want it to be over, but he doesn’t shoot.

My hand grabs ahold of the weapon and presses it harder against my head, but before I can do anything more to make this all go away, the gun falls between my fingers as if it’s transparent. It clatters to the ground with a soft thud and I reach for it, but my hand goes right through it like a ghost.

He chuckles above me and bends down to look me straight in the eye. I hear his words in my head even though he says nothing.

“Not personal enough,” a snakelike voice says. It suits him. The sound chills my body and my heart pounds against my chest looking for an escape that it’s not going to find.

My eyes stay down so that I don’t have to look at this heartless man. The only thing I see are his bent knees and fancy shoes. He must be some caliber of rich person if he has such extravagant footwear.

His arms fall into my frame of view and I see him remove leather gloves from his spindly fingers.

Those cold hands, that are like a skeletons grab my neck and squeeze. He forces my head up so that he can look at me and he’s enjoying the sight of watching my eyes die.

I can tell for sure this time that I’m dying. There’s no turning back now. Those bony fingers digging into my skin and manually pulling my life away. It’s so much more personal than any other form of execution.

Before everything leaves me I realize why he looks familiar. The formless figure of the enemy is Gerard’s super villain. This is the man that he draws in the pages of his comic book. How ironic that I’m being killed by such a faceless enemy.

~*~*~*~

I wake up in a workshop type place. It looks old, and unused. There’s stacks of cabinets with nails and bolts. There’s a bench with a wooden table in front of it, but there’s a severe lack of tools. I hope the tools are going to stay lacking.

The room isn’t very large and it’s brightly lit. There’s a door in front of me that’s closed tightly and I bet it’s locked as well.

I jolt upright when I remember what happened and I feel a metallic clink as my arms feel like they’re being violently pulled. I shift my head to look behind me at my hands. They’re tied behind my back with silver chains. Not the kinky kind, the business kind. The ground below me is a freezing concrete.

From the subtle noise in the room I’m able to tell that I’m still in New York, but it sounds like I’m nowhere near a window.

“Fuck,” I say after the situation sinks in. I’ve been kidnapped. That is so demeaning. Why? I guess Gerard was dead on when he said that Mikey and I would cause the most grief for him to lose. Is that what this is? Did they kidnap me to get to Gerard? Must have.

Why am I alive then? I’m not complaining, I just don’t know that I understand why. Wouldn’t it have been easier to shoot me rather than kidnap me? Well, no actually because then it would give doubt to Mikey’s case.

Why didn’t they nab me and then kill me at a different location? Surely if they’ve planned this far ahead then they’ll know how to get rid of a body. Oh god, is that all I am? Just a body? I probably will be soon anyway.

My stomach lurches at the idea of dying. I don’t want to die, I really don’t. It sounds so scary. I’ve never felt the fear of inevitable disaster before, but I bet this is what I put Gerard through. Though, and I don’t mean to demean Gerard’s troubles, I think this is worse. At least he knew where he was, and he knew how to keep himself moderately safe. These chains are painful, and they grind into my flesh leaving red imprints in my skin. They burn and my heart is pounding terribly in fear. I have no escape in sight.

The door in front of me opens a minute later and I raise my head quickly to look at who’s here.

It’s a man with black hair, blue jeans and a white T-shirt. He looks unshaven and scraggly, but not altogether bad looking. He’s got sunglasses on, and his skin is distinctly a tanned white. I already don’t like him, but I guess that has something to do with the current state of affairs.

“Why haven’t you killed me then?” I ask.

“Waiting for the boss’ say so. Shooting you is too messy. Leaves a body. I hope you’re a really good swimmer,” the guy answers. That doesn’t sound fun. Are they going to throw me in the ocean or something? Drown like in my dream?

This is all so terrifying. I don’t know what’s more terrifying though, the fact that I’m going to die or the fact that Gerard won’t know what happened to me. Right now he’s either worrying where the hell I’ve gone or wondering why it’s taking me so long to get coffee.

“Great, so I’m doomed,” I say to myself. I don’t actually know how long it’s been. There’s no sunlight or anything in this room so I don’t know what time it is. My body clock is malfunctioning after having been out cold. I suspect I was out for a little while, but I can’t be positive. It could’ve been ten minutes and it could’ve been a day, or anything in between.

“Is this because of Gerard?” I ask stupidly. I already know my answer, and he laughs darkly at my words.

“You’re never going to see that guy again,” the guy says to me with glee. Right well he’s a sadist.

“Yes I am,” I spit back at him.

“He wouldn’t want to see you again even if you were going to live,” the guy tells me.

“What do you mean?”

He chuckles to himself and says, “That little note you left him, the one about why you left and how you never liked him, wasn’t very nice.”

My stomach drops. What did they do? They forged a goodbye note? What did they write? What’s Gerard going to think of me when he reads those fake words? I would never leave him, but he won’t know that. This is all so wretched. Why is this all happening?

Why did I have to fall in love with Gerard? Why did I have to fall for a dead man like that charismatic fucking dork? They’re taking everything away from him and I don’t even care about myself anymore. I care about how all this is going to affect Gerard. He’s going to think I deserted him! He’s never going to know that I love him.

I feel myself cry for the first time since my imprisonment, but it’s too hard to hide anymore. The guy laughs at me so helpless on the floor. I probably look so childish to him. He must think I’m such a loser.

How can I not cry though? Gerard’s never going to know that I love him. I’m never going to get the chance to tell him. I could die right now and be content if he knew. If he knew that I loved him, and if he knew that I would never hurt him then this would all be okay. He’s never going to know though.

That’s what I want most. For him to know I love him. Why didn’t I say it yesterday? Then I could die happy. I’d die fulfilled.

What kind of a loser am I that I’m crying over his fate rather than my own? I’m not going to hurt though. Not when I’m dead. You can’t be hurt when you’re gone. All he’s ever going to do is hurt though. He’s going to think that his brother tried to kill a man and he’s going to think that his boyfriend was just a filthy manipulator who never liked him. Is he ever going to know that I’m dead? Is he just going to assume that I fled from him?

I wish I knew who it was that’s going to be killing me.

“I’m going to die right? That much is clear to me, so if I am to die would it be too much for me to ask who I have to thank for my death?” I ask.

“This is all so much bigger than you realize,” the guy says, “You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

He’s right about that. If the person who hired these men has that amount of cash then he’s loaded. This is two men and at least two assassins, though the second assassin could be one of these two men. I know it’s two because it’s practically impossible to coordinate a kidnapping with just one. There could be more though. Just how well connected is this guy?

“That’s true, and that’s kind of why I asked. Tell me who’s killing me! I won’t go blabbing, will I? I’ll be hanging out with Nemo,” I say. Typical me, referencing Pixar with my last few moments on earth. An argument could be made for Verne.

“I could tell you...” The guy says, “But wouldn’t it all be so much more fun if you died not knowing. Keep you wondering, so that you feel so defeated and the last thing you ever think will be the fact that you’ve failed.”

“So is everyone here a sadist?” I ask. He doesn’t say anything immediately so I sigh.

“Does your partner on this know you’re a sadist?”

“I don’t have a partner, I work alone,” he answers too quickly which means he’s probably lying to me, but I already know he is.

“Really? So you jumped out of a van on the right side only seconds after you were driving from the left side, and then you grabbed me, pulled me into you van and restrained me while also driving. I’ve got to hand it to you, you’re flexibility is astounding.”

“Fine then,” he says briefly.

“So who are you two working for? Is one of you the assassin trying to kill Gerard? Are you the guy trying to kill him? If so, I want you to know that I will not rest until I make you bleed. I will come for you, either in the afterlife or once I’m free and I will make you understand real pain. I won’t give up until you understand the meaning of hellfire.”

“You have no idea who you’re dealing with,” the guy repeats.

“And you have no idea who _you’re_ dealing with,” I reply.

He turns around and looks at me with narrowed eyes like he’s unamused.

“You? You’re nothing. You’re no one. No one will even care if you’re gone. No one will even notice. I doubt your little boyfriend is even going to care,” he scolds.

The painful chains around my wrist rattle when I try to jump at him, anger surging through my body furiously. He smirks at me and I want nothing more than to wring his neck. I don’t like hurting people, I never have, but right now that’s all I want. I want to see this guy squirm in agony. Not only for tying me up, but also for hurting Gerard and disrespecting him.

He lowers his neck down to look at me just out of reach from where I can touch him and his lips turn up devilishly.

“No one’s going to care about your little friend once you’re gone. No one will give a second thought about Gerard Way, and no one’s going to give a second thought about you,” he states.

I have a limited number of things I can do right now so I spit right in his face. It’s pretty successful aim too because I get him right in the eye and I feel a little better about myself after that. He slaps me across the cheek, but I don’t care. He walks away a moment later and then the door shuts and I’m left in complete darkness. He turned off the lights on his way out and it’s a signal of impending hell like a bulldozer.

There’s no light in here at all. Not a single light can be seen in this entire room and I feel scared all of a sudden. I’m not afraid of the dark, but it’s so harrowing and thorough that I can’t help but feel wary. My stomach is churning in fear. This is more like the drowning in my dream than actual drowning. It’s the dark that scared me most about it. The fire of asphyxiation was painful but it wasn’t the scariest thing in the world. This, however, is.

There’s no comparison to the feeling of knowing you’re about to die. It’s so unbelievably scary that my whole body feels leaden. My mouth is painfully dry and my head is screaming with all the things I never got to do. I never saw the Eiffel Tower. I never broke a world record. I never swam with the dolphins or skydived. I never learned CPR, and I never rode in a limo. _I never told Gerard I love him_.

No matter what I do or try to think about I just keep coming back to that. That would be number one on my bucket list right after clearing Mikey’s name.

At least I can be sure about Mikey now. He couldn’t have orchestrated a kidnapping from jail. He wouldn’t have framed himself, and he wouldn’t have hired people to kill _me_.

I stay in the dark for several minutes. The only way I have of telling time is to count to sixty and then back down to one. One hundred times I count to sixty before the door finally opens again.

It’s not mister-sadist man though. It’s señor balaclava. As far as I can tell there’s only two of them, and señor balaclava seems more worried about keeping his identity hidden from me because I’m a dead man, yet he still has the ski mask. A lot of people in my field do that just in case they get caught by traffic cams or other various securities.

A definitively Slovak accent says two words and my whole body sinks. I knew this was coming, but still, I can’t help but feel complete trepidation and terror.

The words are so simple yet they can only mean one thing.

“It’s time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry I won't kill him... probably (no I'm just kidding I'd tag it and make it completely clear if I had any intentions of killing anybody).


	23. Drowning Lessons?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cheesy ass chapter name.

I don’t want to go anywhere with señor balaclava, though to be perfectly honest I like him better mister-sadist man. I haven’t seen much of señor balaclava though because the most I got was a blurry image of him driving the car. I think it was him, because it makes more sense for the sadist to do the actual kidnapping.

“Is it time to party? Or maybe time to let free the really attractive guy you’re keeping in the workshop?”

Señor balaclava doesn’t say anything, but the eyes in his ski mask narrow at me so I don’t think he’s amused. Might as well have a little humor because I’m never going to get the chance ever again.

“Can we stop at Starbucks? I’m feeling like a Chai Latte before meeting my maker,” I say.

Oh he doesn’t like me all that much but at least he’s not trying to taunt me. He grabs my arms and the metal digs painfully leaving red and deep marks in my skin. He puts zip ties over my wrists and then pulls them so tight that I can feel my skin bruise and not in the good way. It makes my hands and fingers all feel numb. At least it’s better than metal though.

“Is there any chance of me appealing to your better nature? I’ll buy you an ice cream cone!” I ask and still he hasn’t said any more words. He’s not the most talkative guy ever. I remember what it was like being an assassin in the position of killing someone, but he’s so much more unpleasant then I ever was. The best part about being The Enigma was that no one ever really knew what was about to happen. It was quick and relatively painless compared to this. Drowning sounds comparatively painful compared to a quick shot to the neck.

I’ve never really considered what it would feel like to drown, but I don’t think it’s the best way to go. I hope it’s not too cold. Because that’s what I should be worried about. The temperature of my tombstone. It’s good to know that I’ve got my priorities straight. I’m not even straight though how do you expect me to do that with my priorities?

He pulls me up onto my feet, not as roughly as he could, but I want to make this a very slow process as this is my funeral procession. How dull, no one else is here besides me and these two merciless brauds. They should be wearing black for this shouldn’t they?

I’m pulled out of the little room and I see a warehouse like building, but I haven’t a clue where on earth this is. New York, but beyond that it could be anywhere. I assume we’re somewhere near the ocean or something if they’re going to drown me.

Oh god that’s actually going to happen isn’t it? I’m actually about to die.

“You know how mortifying it is to realize that you’re clock is ticking down and you’re about to die? Now I know what it felt like for Harry to walk into that forest, or for Sam and Frodo to go into that volcano. Oh, maybe Captain Jack fighting off an army of Daleks,” I say absently as I’m shoved forward by señor balaclava to the exit. The other guy is standing there waiting by the van that nabbed me earlier which is now parked inside the vast room. I can’t actually tell how big this place is because the lights aren’t all on and there are very few windows, but I guess that it’s pretty huge. I think I can make out the shapes of some crates and stuff, but I can’t be too sure. I could probably make a run for it but I wouldn’t end up far. Guys like these carry firearms the way some people carry gum.

“Note that I used examples of heroes who ended up escaping death in the end as I fully intend to do as well,” I continue. I don’t want to be a Boromir or a Sirius Black, because that implies I actually have to die.

I’m no idiot though. I know there’s no getting out of this. I know how these things work, and I haven’t had extensive education on how to prevent yourself from being murdered. I’m a murderer I’m not on the receiving end. I guess I’m not even that though. I’m a journalist. I’m a tiny little man who doesn’t do much of anything productive, and happens to have an unnaturally attractive boyfriend who he’s never going to see again.

I want him to know what’s happening. I don’t exactly want him to know about this slow march we do to the van where I’m carelessly thrown into the back, and I don’t want him to see the details of my death, but I want him to know why I left. I don’t want him to see the pearly and blood shot gloss over my eyes or the wavy strands of dark hair flowing around my head, and I especially don’t want him to see my raisin fingers magnified across my entire body, but I wish he knew that I’m not leaving him by choice.

While it would crush him to know that I’m about to be gone forever at least he’d know that the past few weeks I spent with him meant everything to me and they weren’t fake at all. I don’t know if that’s necessarily any better than thinking that I left him though. If he thinks I’m just gone than at least he could have hope that I’ll come back, and if he thinks that I’m dead then he knows there isn’t a chance.

My body hurls against the back of the van as I’m tossed inside, and the doors slam shut as mister-sadist man climbs into the back with me. The engine starts up and the dread gts worse. I want to cry or scream but I have some small amount of ego that I don’t want to put a flame thrower through with my final minutes.

The car jerks one way and my body goes with it because it’s not very secure or anything and mister-sadist man smiles at me to my right while looking at me.

I speak glumly as my head hits painfully on the wall, “You know you don’t have to look so gleeful, you are committing a murder after all.”

“Does it count as murder if no one cares about the deceased?”

“I don’t know man does it count as theft if you leave a nickel and bag of Fritos behind?” I mock with a stupid voice.

He grimaces and then grabs my legs and starts to put another zip tie around my feet so that my bones are bound together painfully. I can feel the pointed edge of my bone rubbing against its counterpart and it stings somewhat.

I make him uncomfortable by saying sexual things as he ties my feet together securely, “Oh yeah pull it real tight, that’s the stuff.”

He’s not amused by me either. I really wish my wit weren’t lost on these two cold-blooded killers because I could dole out some pretty beautiful puns in this situation.

I don’t think there’s a way to describe just how utterly terrified I am. My whole body feels like it’s been bound even though it’s just my hands and feet. My lungs are trying to fill themselves with all the air in the world, to try to get enough to store in my body for when I’m underwater, but I seem incapable of even getting enough for right here. There’s a copper taste on my tongue and my stomach is so far past sick that I’m surprised I haven’t puked. It’s like someone has combined all the worst feelings in the world altogether and shoved them down my throat.

“I’m going to ask one more time who it is that’s ordering my death,” I speak quietly.

“Wouldn’t you _love_ to know?” Mister-sadist man says.

“I would, yes. I would love to know what kind of a monster could do this. I don’t mean _my_ death because that’s insignificant, but Mikey? You’re framing the wrong man and killing another just to make Gerard miserable?”

“Not to mention what’s going to happen to the editors and publishers of his comic. He can’t publish anything if the only people pulling for it are incapacitated.”

“All this? All this for one man?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Don’t you think that’s a little much? Do you even know how great a person you’re punishing? Don’t you realize just how amazing this person is and you’re leaving him worse off than dead.”

“No we’re not, we’re going to kill him,” the guy says.

“What?” I ask confused.

“We’re going to kill him,” the guy repeats, “We have connections in prison. People who aren’t afraid of killing a toothpick like his brother.”

My body starts feeling a million times worse than a minute ago. They’re killing me, and having Mikey killed. Gerard won’t know I’m dead, but he’ll know about Mikey. I’ve heard some pretty awful things about people who die in prison. It’s not a fun way to go. There aren’t any weapons. They have to make do with what they’ve got lying around. Things like pens and spoons. It’s dull and painful.

“And once you’ve killed us both you’re going to kill Gerard too,” I conclude for him trying not to sound so weak.

“Not exactly,” he says. “We’re going to leave that part up to him. We’ll provide means, but it’s his choice in the end.”

I come to understand what he means and feel myself wretch at the floor, needing to either vomit or just die right here and now. They’re going to make Gerard kill himself.

It’s a pretty good plan, and I’d love to say that I know Gerard wouldn’t do anything like that, but there’s really no telling what a person will do when they’ve lost so much. Loss is the greatest incentive for irrationality. There’s no way to hypothesize what a person will do after their brother is killed, they’ve been abandoned by their lover and they’re job falls through.

“I’m looking forward to seeing you two burn in hell,” I whisper at him and feel him slam my head against the back again. It’s starting to be incredibly agonizing, but I won’t have to deal with it soon enough. The man chuckles again and I swallow back a hurricane of insults.

I know his kind though. There are people like me who only kill people so that they can pay the rent. People who don’t particularly like the job, but it pays so it has to be done. Then there are his type. The guys who want to cause pain. The guys who like seeing people squirm and like to use a knife so that they can feel a body go limp in their arms. People like him are terrifying. Sometimes they never quite make it to assassination, but you don’t want to do bondage with a guy like him. To them, killing people is fun. It’s a game.

The car stops abruptly and once again I go hurling into something hard. I hear the sound of water lapping at the earth from outside and all I can think is that this is it. This is all I have left.

My body freezes in place, and it’s not just to make it hard for them to grab me and pull me out of the car, I just can’t move. I can’t feel my limbs nor allow air into my lungs. I become acutely aware of my own heartbeat as I’m tugged out of the back of the van like a piece of meat.

Everything seems to all be moving so quickly all of a sudden. I’m dragged by the neck of my shirt over to the side of a deserted dock and I can’t stop it. My legs are stuck together painfully so I can’t run away, and even if I could it would be a stupid little wattle.

The sky is dark with small hints of stars and the moon is nearly full, making it bright. The water below me looks dark and ominous. The last thing I want right now is to take a little swim, thank you very much. I don’t have a choice though. There’s no choice for me, I have to go.

My heart is running a marathon or something, and I can feel my blood pumping in every crevice of my body. I hear it in my ears, feel it in my arms, and even the numb parts of my toes feel the rush of blood going through me.

I take a long breath, my last breath, and squeeze a tear out of my eye as I look at the water.

As quickly as all this crap started, it all stops. A hand pushes me and I fall without hindrance into the murky water below me that is to become my grave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do we have any new or updated theories about the attempted killer now that we know a little more?


	24. Impossible is Really Only For Weaklings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I mean, obviously he was going to survive.

My first instinct of the water is that it’s fucking freezing. I don’t know what I was expecting. It’s like the middle of the night and it’s spring, so yeah, obviously it’s cold. Holy shit is that cold though.

It’s the type of cold that is literally so cold that it’s hot. It feels like I’m being burned at the stake or something except the fire is everywhere. It’s in my hair and in my clothes and in other places that don’t like being cold.

I don’t hear anything immediately because my head is flailing for air. I’m trying to get to the surface, but without my hands or my feet it’s practically impossible. I manage to get my head above water for about two seconds and I hear the car pulling away.

I honestly don’t know what to do. My heart is pounding and my body is already starting to give into the pull of the water. The harder I flail the more I’m dragged under and it seems impossible to get back up that one foot to the surface. I just can’t. I push so hard wishing there were rockets in my feet to boost me upwards, but sadly there are not.

My lungs have a little bit of air left in them, maybe a minute at best, but after that I’m going to have to take on water and as soon as that happens I’m done for.

I can’t give up though. I did not spend twenty plus years suffering through school, and puberty and finals just to die like this. I will not have studied the bloody constitution in vain, I just have to get to the fucking surface for air.

I open my eyes, but all I see is blackness. There are no lights down here, and there’s no reason for there to be. Why on earth would they illuminate the docks? The underside of the docks especially? Oh god I hope there aren’t any fish that bite. Why do I care about fish, I’m about to die?

It wasn’t very smart to leave me like this though. Eventually I’m going to end up floating and someone will find my body. If they’d tied a cinder block to me than it would’ve been smarter. I’m not complaining though, I would kind of like being found. It’s not that I really want to end up as a slab on some morticians table looking all lifeless and pale, but I think that’s better than never being found ever. There’s a possibility of justice if people know you’re dead. Gerard might know where I went then, I guess that’s a silver lining I can get out of all this. You can’t say I’m a pessimist at least. I’m literally dying as we speak, but I’m still finding the positives!

I’ve forgotten which way is up and which is down. I can’t tell any direction from another so I try my hardest to kick at my surroundings and maybe that’ll give me some clue as to which way I should angle myself, but it’s useless. I kick harder wishing I knew what to do, but I don’t. I never took a class on how to escape from zip ties while drowning in the ocean. They should teach that at the community center.

Okay settle down Frank, how do you get yourself out of this one? My best guess is that if I stop struggling I might go back up. I might float better if I’m not acting like a lunatic.

It takes quite a bit of willpower not to thrash and scream, but I calm myself down the best I can for a moment. I blow bubbles out through my nose to try to calm my brain. My eyes are still open and irritated from the grimy water, but I don’t close them because I’m waiting to see some light.

The surface breaks over my head which seems impossible and I actually breathe in real air, though it’s not very good air. A second ago my lungs were ready to burst, but now they’re feeling a little better. I’ll take any air I can get at this point. My head hits something painfully hard a moment later and I actually do yell out because it fucking hurts.

I didn’t just hit something hard though, I hit something pointy that would have rammed through my skull if the force hadn’t been so mild. What the hell is that? It’s a pretty low dock so there’s only three or four inches of space between the dock above me and the water.

I look up, but it’s so dark that I don’t see much of anything, and a moment later I’m pulled back down. The water doesn’t seem to like it when I try to remain vertical so I’m going to have to stay horizontal for this.

My bones are all so cold that I can barely feel them. My whole body is like an iceberg, and I can’t tell limb from water anymore. I calm myself again and open my eyes even though they object to the cold water. It’s still so impossible to see, but I have adjusted a little more to the darkness this time. I don’t see anything resolute. I see blue water that’s so dark it’s almost black and above me I see ripples and some sort of brightness.

I know it’s pretty hopeless because I’m so goddamn tired from all this exertion, but I will myself back up to the surface. I don’t manage it this time and I can feel the air hit the top of my head before I start to sink again. I don’t know what to do and I don’t know how to even begin to get out of this.

The only parts of my body that I can move with some freedom are my arms which are still tied together, but my elbows are completely unhindered, and the only other parts that are working are my knees. My legs may be tied together, but my knees and the rest of my legs are pretty limber at the moment. My head is screaming and I think whatever I hit on the dock must have cut me, but I don’t think it’s too serious.

My brain starts going into overdrive when I realize that something sharp is exactly what I need right now. I need something to cut the zip ties so that I can pull myself over the dock. It must be a nail that I hit, and that damn nail might be about to save my life if I can do this correctly.

If anyone could see me right now they’d realize how fucking helpless I am because there’s no way this doesn’t look absolutely mental. I do an odd thing with my knees that’s kind of like the butterfly exercise I was forced to do in gym class, and it kind of looks a bit like Pac-man too.

I don’t think there’s a soul alive that would imagine that this could actually work, but I’d never have gotten anywhere in life if I’d listened to what other people thought.

My knees grab a hold of the pole holding the dock up and they hold on for dear life, because this _is_ my life that they’re holding on to.

I’m still about a foot away from the surface, but I scoot up with a very awkward little crawl that is extremely unattractive. I pull my body upward painfully until my head breaks the surface and the air meets me like an old friend. I’ve never realized just how much I like air, but I really do. It’s fantastic. If I make it through this than I am never going to take air for granted ever again. Air is a great thing.

I can actually breathe, with relative stability in this position though it doesn’t bode well for my dignity.

My hands scramble at the dock, rubbing against each other uncomfortably, until I find that nail again. Thank god for tetanus shots because this is going to really fucking hurt. My body has to stretch unimaginably to reach the nail above me and my limbs protest heartily to the stretch and prolonged position, but I don’t have any other choice. It’s either this unthinkable pain, or it’s death. Death is so much easier, but I’ve never been a quitter. Unless you count my job, but you shouldn’t because I don’t.

My body stretches and bends to reach that nail and I start trying to get a good angle to try and pry these zip ties off. They’re only plastic or whatever, but they’re unbelievably strong. They must reinforced with diamonds or some shit.

I start rubbing my hands against the nail and I’ve never been in so much pain. My body is protesting at the position and now my wrists are being repeatedly poked and cut with this long nail, but I do it anyway. It’s my only chance. I only have this one shot, otherwise I’m dead. Literally.

I rub my wrists against that damn nail until they’re red raw and bleeding like a bitch but I don’t stop.

For almost a minute or longer I’m just assaulting the nail and then, like magic, my wrists break apart. I actually feel my gut unclench as it realizes what’s happened. My knees are yelling at the rest of me for being taken advantage of and I almost let go of the dock in shock, but I don’t and I stretch my arms out.

It feel heavenly to have access to these arms again, and I’m not going to be taken them for granted either thank you very much. It feels so good to have my bleeding hands back that I forget where I am altogether as they float around in the water separately. My back thanks me at having that tension removed, and I can tell how sore my forearms are. I have no idea how long they were strapped together, but it was far too long.

It hits me that I’m still pretty much underwater, and I’m not going to last much longer if the tide comes in so I grab for the pole with my hands that I’m currently clutching with my knees. That didn’t sound at all like an innuendo.

My hands grab the post and mercifully I swing my body out and around the side of the dock so that there’s nothing above me but the night sky.

I take my free hands and I place them on the dock, but this part is not going to be easy. I’ve lost almost every single ounce of strength I’ve ever had in my entire life with what I just did, and this last obstacle seems like Everest. This dock is all that’s left between me and dry land, so I have to go for it.

My arms want to fall off after what they’ve been through and my wrists are burning with pain. It’s dark out, but it’s light enough for me to see dark drops off my own blood drip down my arms like the water that’s doing the same thing.

I get a good hold of the flanks of wood that line the dock and I dig my fingers into the groove of one, then pull. Nothing. I’m giving it all I’ve got, but I’m getting nothing in return. I wish I was a flying fish so that I could just propel myself upward, but that’s not going to work. This is going to have to be pure manpower.

On my best day it would be nearly impossible to pull myself up without the use of my legs, so it’s about a million times harder to do this when I’m so drained. I could literally fall asleep right here and now. My body decides to help me out though and it gives me a sudden boost of adrenaline. I think it realizes that if it doesn’t help me out here then I’m going to die, so it’s doing what it can.

I get a firmer hold on the dock and I pull. My body lifts minutely out of the water so one of my hands grabs farther up the dock and it pulls me even further. My other hand reaches higher and I’m pulled even more out of the water.

It’s like rock climbing except it’s harder. Instead of just the pull of gravity I’ve also got drowsiness and damp clothes that weigh about a million pounds.

Every single second of this process is filled with my brain telling me to give it up because it’s too painful, but the rest of me is just fighting against that instinct. I keep thinking to myself to give up so that I can try again in a second, but I don’t listen to that thought either.

I’ve just got to keep going so I do. I pull more and more of my body up until I can get the momentum to swing my legs up. I only have one shot at this swing because as soon as I go for it it’s either no or go. It’ll work and I’ll live to see another day, or it won’t work and I’ll be reclaimed by the ocean. If I don’t succeed here then I’m not going to have the strength to try again. If I can’t do this then I’d rather just drown.

I swing my legs up with all the force and strength I have left in my body and they hit the solid dock with a beautiful thud. I did it. I made it.

For about five minutes I just lie there on the dock looking up at the sky with my body resting from that arduous dilemma. I feel the air enter my lungs and it burns but I let it, because it feels so damn good. I take in the air and I’m reluctant to let it out again because it’s never been so welcome.

It’s as I’m exhaling that I realize the scale of what I’ve just done. I just saved my own life. I’m alive right now because I didn’t give up. How long did that take me? About ten minutes unbelievably, but it had to have been.

I feel my body shake as I begin to laugh at the feat. I am never going to be able to out trump that little maneuver. I’m fucking alive and I feel like absolute shit and it’s _great_. It’s so worth it. It’s so worth this uncontrollable ache I’m feeling. I’ve never been happier to just be alive.

I shoot my fist up in the air in triumph, even though it hurts like hell. I really can’t help but celebrate at how amazing life feels right now.

As happy as I am to get the chance to tell Gerard I love him, it’s really nothing compared to the glee of actually being alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just bought 'Bad Blood' and I'm actually quite impressed with it, also 'Incongruent' but that was more or less because of Hank.


	25. Sleepy Frankie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pretty self explanatory.

First things first I need to get the hell out of these clothes. I’m already risking hypothermia and I don’t need to prolong that. Standing up seems incredibly difficult at the moment, but I’m freezing and it’s not going to get any better if I stay here.

I pull myself up into a sitting position with my knees to my chest and look down at my feet which are still tied together. I dig my fingers under the zip ties but they don’t budge. I can’t get these off without something sharp. I look down at my discolored wrists as I try to get the zip ties off and I frown at the way I’ve butchered them. My hands are bloody and some of the cuts aren’t as shallow as I’d hoped. I’m going to need to take care of that too.

This is going to be awkward. I need to find something sharp, but there are no more loose nails lying around unless I want to go diving back into the ocean and I’m thinking not. Which will ruin my integrity the least? Bunny hop, wormlike scoot, or butt scoot? This is why people carry pocket knives. I should invest in one of those.

I make my not so graceful way down the dock until I find someone’s fishing kit that they conveniently left here unlocked. There’s plenty of things in here that’ll cut zip ties so I grab a small collapsible knife and get the plastic off, releasing my feet.

It feels great to not be restricted anymore. I’ve missed these feet. I just now notice that I seem to have lost a show while drowning. Could be worse. I could’ve died. Those bastards stole my phone so I’m going to have to get a new one. It’ good that I don’t have that many contacts. New phone, new shoes, some clothes and something warm to drink would be my ideal shopping list.

I stand up and my muscles groan at the motion and my covered foot makes a gross squishy sound under the strain of the weight. This is going to be embarrassing, like a walk of shame except damper.

I walk down the rest of the dock and then step onto a dingy little street. It’s deserted so I walk a little way down until I see a bar that’s fairly busy. I check my pockets but obviously I don’t have a wallet. I make my way to the bar and stand outside the entrance as inconspicuously as I can. I can’t go in there when I’m this wet, I’d only draw more attention to myself.

The first person who walks out I grab the wallet of, and it’s easy too easy because the guy is hammered. He doesn’t have any cash though, so it’s not much use to me right now. I wait for the next person and grab his wallet. Wow, someone should tell this guy that you really shouldn’t have that much cash on your person. He’s got a few twenties and a couple tens that total up to a little over one hundred. This should buy me something at least, but I wait for a third person and grab a third wallet just in case. That’s another thirty bucks, and I’m content with that.

I walk further down the street dripping onto the pavement incessantly. It looks like I tried to go swimming with my clothes on, unless you see my wrists where it looks pretty gruesome. Not gory, just bloody. My steps are uneven because one foot has a shoe and the other doesn’t, so I look pretty fucking stupid.

There’s not much open, and I wish I knew what time it is, because I have absolutely no idea. At least after ten? I don’t know what day it is either. Judging by the number of people in that bar it’s probably a weekend.

A little ways down there’s a twenty four hours store, which I walk into and get a handful of grimaces from the employees. Poor janitor who’s going to have to clean up my drip trail. I’d do it myself, but I just escaped death and that’s enough work for one day.

I check the clock to see that it’s pushing two in the morning. After grabbing dry clothes, and some gloves so that people don’t have to see the blood, I change in the bathroom. The feeling of clean clothes that don’t smell like salt water and aren’t wet is really glorious. I wrap the sleeves of the hoodie tightly into me to get warmer. I check my hair out in the mirror and it’s still wet but it’s not too bad. The cut on my head isn’t too bad either.

I look like shit though. There’s gigantic bags under my eyes and a cut across my cheek that I don’t recall getting, as well as a cut lip. One of them is probably from being slapped around by mister-sadist man. Still, could be worse. I’m always the eternal optimist.

I walk out quickly pulling the hood up on my sweatshirt, so that I don’t have to make eye contact with anyone.

Getting a cab at this hour and in this area is going to be hard so I have to keep walking. My feet are killing me, but I walk a few blocks until I see a taxi down the road and head towards it.

Getting in and sitting down feels so much better on my legs. I don’t even think about the address I give him, and then I realize that I didn’t just give him mine. I gave Gerard’s address, and I didn’t even mean to. I think that’s where I want to go though.

I almost fall asleep in the back of the car. I actually think that I might’ve because I feel myself being jolted awake in front of my destination. My hood’s fallen off and I feel disorientated all over again. I squint at the light hitting my eyes and it takes me a minute to actually realize that I’m meant to get out. My body has stiffened up from sitting down and I ache when I try to move, but I do so anyway, knowing that soon I’ll hopefully get to rest for real.

It takes me longer than it probably should to stand up and get out of the car and I’m rifling through the wad of cash in my pocket looking for the right amount of money.

“Frankie!” A squeal comes from behind me and the next thing I know is that the familiar hands of Gerard are wrapping around me waist from behind me and he buries his head in my shoulder. I can’t see him from this angle, but I’m so glad he’s there.

“Thank fuck, Frank. I thought you were dead,” he whispers into my shoulder.

“Not dead Gerard, just temporarily incapacitated,” I say and I can tell the cabbie is getting annoyed because I haven’t paid him yet, but there’s a Gerard on me who’s getting in the way of the cash in my pockets.

“You scared the living daylights out of me,” Gerard says.

“Listen, Gerard,” I say and I untangle myself from him then hold out a finger for him to wait so that I can pay the driver. I hand him the money and he pulls away a second later.

“What?” he asks looking scared.

“There was a note that you might’ve found-“

“Don’t worry I know that was fake,” Gerard says quickly and he puts his arms around my neck. I feel colossally better when he says that, but I don’t know he knows that.

“How?”

He rolls his eyes at me and smiles, “I know you’re writing style. I practically memorized that article in the paper. And I know you, so there was no way that you could’ve written it.”

“Good, I’m glad you know it wasn’t real. I don’t know what it says, but just know that you are extremely important to me. I’m just so glad you don’t hate me,” I tell him.

“You should be. As soon as I saw it I knew something was up, and I called the police but they didn’t let me file a missing persons report until it’d been 24 hours.”

“How long has it been?” I ask him.

“You don’t know?” He asks looking concerned, “it’s been three days Frank. You went out to get coffee, you didn’t come back and when I left to check up on you there was a note taped to my door. Three days later here you are.”

“Three days!” I repeat astounded, and I’m struck with a horrible revelation, “They were outside your apartment.”

“What happened? Who?” Gerard asks.

“I think you’d really prefer not knowing. I want to get inside though,” I say quickly and I pull on Gerard sleeve to get him into the building.

“You aren’t getting off that easy, Iero,” Gerard replies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems like people are losing interest in this which sucks, but I guess that's life. I'll try to wrap it up then, so as not to waste your time.
> 
> Comment I guess if you're still interested.


	26. I'm In Lesbians With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hope you appreciate my Scott Pilgrim reference.

“You’re going to tell me what happened and you’re not going to leave out a single detail.”

“Oh, I’m going to leave out a lot of the details Gerard, because you don’t want most of them,” I admit.

“You’re okay right now though?” Gerard asks.

“Well technically I’m dead right now. That’s what they need to think. You need to think I ran away from you, and you can’t let on that you know I’m safe.”

“Why?” Gerard asks, and he fidgets uncomfortably next to me on his couch.

“Because I shouldn’t be alive right now. I am supposed to be dead,” I say.

“And if they find out you’re not dead they’ll try again?”

“They’re really bad at killing people, huh?” I joke. It’s true though. They missed Gerard four times and me once, but they have to think they succeeded this one time.

“You could say that. Tell me what happened though, tell me what you know. And do we need to call the police?”

“No, we probably shouldn’t. If we call the police the people who are trying to hurt you might find out that I’m alive, and we can’t have that,” I tell him.

“Frank, I don’t know about-“

“Just trust me, okay? Tell the police that I’m not actually a missing person in the morning or something, and that I just went off the grid for a few days. It happens, they shouldn’t question you further.”

Gerard frowns but nods, “are you ever going to tell me what all happened. I’m dying over here!”

“Gerard it’s-” he gives me a glare that translates well so I begin summarizing the last, apparently, _three_ days.

After explaining the brief start I skip over the messed up dreams and the specifics of mister-sadist man, but I do reveal what he said.

“He said that we have no idea who we’re dealing with. No idea what we’re up against or whatever. He made it seem like the shot caller is someone of status. Someone high up. Got him monologuing enough for him to tell me the plan.”

“There’s a solid plan? It seemed sort of unofficial to me,” Gerard comments.

“Well a lot of what we thought was true doesn’t seem to be anymore. Two assassins, means lots of doe, and they weren’t as skilled as they wanted me to think they were. They were far too sloppy which makes me believe that ‘assassin’ isn’t their primary occupation.”

“And you’re the assassin expert I suppose?” Gerard asks with a raise of the eyebrow and my stomach twists painfully even though I know he’s joking.

“I... it doesn’t matter. Anyway, originally they just wanted you dead, but when that was proving too difficult they decided to make other plans. That’s where Mikey and I come in. They’re also going to attack your publisher and editor I think.”

“What?” he asks horrified.

“Don’t think either is going to die, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re either blackmailed or paid off.”

“Well my publisher is a bit of a prick, but I like my editor,” Gerard says and I try to add names to the titles. If I’m correct than his publisher is Fischer who he had that public quarrel with, and his editor is that Schechter guy who Gerard’s office is next to. I wouldn’t exactly rule out either of them though. If this plot extends as high as it looks like it does than matching handwriting is not going to catch the culprit.

I conclude what I’ve told him, “So they’re going to try to cancel your comic.”

“Oh glory.”

“They want you to think I’ve run away.”

“Didn’t work out to well.”

“And they want to kill Mikey.”

Gerard pauses when I say that and asks, aghast, “they want to what?”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot to mention that. If Mikey gets convicted, and if he gets sent to jail then they’re going to have him killed.”

“They’re going to what?” Gerard asks, “he’s in jail now though! They moved him two days ago!”

“Well he’s in a county jail, yes, but after his trial he’s going to be sent to a different one. That’s sort of how these things work. Once he’s there he’s a dead man.”

“Fuck!” Gerard exclaims falling back on the couch with his hands on his temples like he’s got a headache.

“Ultimately, Gerard, they want to get you to be in such a bad place that you kill yourself.”

He doesn’t respond immediately and I look at him with his face looking so shattered. I want to hug him. I kind of want to steal his body heat but I also want to just hold him. Both reasons are selfish, but I love him so damn much.

“You won’t will you?” I ask feeling stupid for asking.

His eyes dart open and he looks at me imploringly, “What? No! Never. I mean, six years ago maybe, but no. I wouldn’t. I won’t.”

“Okay,” I say. Every part of me is sure that we’re going to stop any of that from happening, but if we can’t then I just don’t know. I don’t know how he’d handle that sort of loss. I hope he’s being truthful, but I refuse to have to find out.

“So what happened after they grabbed you then? How’d you escape?” Gerard asks after a long while of sitting.

“Um, I, they... well Gerard, they threw me in the ocean.”

He looks up surprised and I’ve got his attention back completely on me. I kind of like having all of his attention in a selfish way. My entire relationship with Gerard is just so selfish.

“It’s what it sounds like. Tied me up and threw me in the ocean,” I continue.

“But you’re not dead, so how’d you...? How?”

“It’s not an overly pleasant story. Hardest thing I’ve ever done in my entire life, and that’s no exaggeration. I cut the zip ties off with this nail I found under the dock and then I managed to climb up.”

He looks dumbfounded and says, “How strong _are you_?”

“Not very. Adrenaline.”

“Still, oh and you must still be freezing! And exhausted! Are you okay? Do you have any injuries?”

I ignore the other question and shrug, pulling the sleeves of my sweatshirt down my hands further. I really would hate to worry him even more than he already is.

Gerard looks at me skeptically seeing through my indifference and he seems to read my mind. I guess he’s just really good with logic, but it’s pretty quick how fast he picks up on things. I hope he doesn’t pick up on some things though.

“Frank, if you were tied up, than that would mean you probably have some wounds on your ankles and wrists. Correct?”

“It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Show me,” he says looking like a parent. His eyebrow are raised and expecting in a way that feels like an x-ray scan. Gerard’s not very frightening, but I am very small so he’s a little intimidating.

I pull my sleeves up slightly so he can see the damage, but I’m not all that caught up on it. I’m alive because of this and I’m not going to be ashamed of that.

“Oh god Frankie, these are going to scar! Or get infected! Hold on we need to take care of this,” Gerard says leaping up.

“It’s fine, you’re making a mountain out of a mole hill.”

“Is there anything wrong with taking precautions?” He yells back at me from the open bathroom door where I hear him rummaging through something.

A minute later he yells at me again and says, “I don’t have any actual medicine. I have rubbing alcohol, but that’s probably not safe for this sort of thing. It’s going to sting, but we’re going to have to use soap.”

Oh great, even more stinging to add to my day. Gerard walks back to me and looks at me expecting me to stand up.

“No I’ll be fine. Or we could just leave it to tomorrow? I’m so tired!”

He gives me a scowl that leads me to listen to what he says so he drags me into the kitchen and runs my hands under the water. It’s hurts like a bitch but I’ve had so much worse in the past few hours. Like almost dying. Yeah, that was bad.

Because Gerard is an expert at first aid, he doesn’t have any bandages or anything so what does he wrap around my wrists? Socks. He wraps socks to keep germs away or something. They’re clean and look brand new so I just go with it.

After that I’m dead on my feet and I just collapse on his bed, feeling as tired as I can ever conceivably be. I’ve missed this place so much. So warm, and welcoming. It feels like Gerard, and smells like him and I love it. The bedspread smells like his shampoo and I bask in it.

“Hey Gerard?” I ask him when he lays down next to me.

“Yeah?”

“Why were you still awake when I got out of that cab?”

He pauses for a moment than says, “I was waiting at the window hoping to see you. Haven’t slept in three days. I just really missed you.”

I smile a little to myself at that. It’s nice to know that while I was thinking about how much I missed him, he was thinking the exact same thing.

“Frankie? You awake?” he asks me a few minutes later.

“I believe so,” I answer, and pinch myself to be safe. Yep, I’m awake.

“Can I tell you something, kind of, um, substantial?”

I prop myself up on my shoulder to get a better look at him. His head is pressed into the middle of his pillow and he looks so innocent. I notice now that he does have bags under his eyes as well and I don’t doubt that he’s been awake for a while. I wasn’t even conscious for a very long time. I’m not sure how I lost three whole days, but I did. I still don’t know what day it is.

“What do you want to tell me that can’t wait until tomorrow?”

He blinks his eyes a few times looking nervous and stutters out a few words, “it’s just that, I don’t know when the right time to say this is. I mean, it’s way too soon and it might freak you out, but you almost died and I don’t want to take the chance that I’m never going to have another opportunity to say this but, oh god anyways, I’m rambling, sorry. I just want to tell you that I’m kind of extremely, head over heels in love with you.”

I pinch myself again. That was real though, I didn’t just imagine that. Gerard just told me he loves me, and I think my heart just burst or something. It’s been a pretty shitty and amazing day, and I think it’s just turned into simultaneously the worst and best day of my life. I’m knackered as well as soar everywhere, but I’m alive and this fucking dork just said the ‘L’ word to _me_.

I answer happily, “You’d have to be crazy to love me, but I love you so much that I’ll let it slide.”

His face eases up quite a bit after I say that, going from nervous to relieved and then delighted in a matter of seconds.

“So you love me too?” he asks, but he already knows his answer.

“Gerard, I’m putting my life in jeopardy to be near you, and I was literally drowning in the ocean not too long ago and my biggest regret was that I never got to tell you that I love you, so I think it’s safe to assume that the feeling is mutual. It’s so worth the risk.”

He smiles shyly and his face relaxes so I can tell he’s tired.

“I never want to miss out on a chance to say that,” I say quietly.

It’s been a wretched day. So far beyond wretched that I deserve a trophy. But goddamn was it a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the chapter where I told you not to kill me for that little scare. There were at least seven death or otherwise harm threats. All sarcastic (I hope).


	27. Kind of a Filler Chapter That Leads Into a Really Important Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What can I say it's kind of a filler chapter that leads into a really important chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's pretty much a filler chapter that leads into a really important chapter.

I think I have decided that the best way to wake up is with your boyfriend’s mouth around your dick. There’s really no topping that. Not really. It definitely beats having an alarm clock.

When I wake up there is very attractive man between my legs, with his red hair hiding his face from me.

“Oh fuck!” I whisper at the feeling. It’s nice to think that maybe kidnapping and assassination attempts aren’t going to infringe upon my sex life. Not going to lie, Gerard makes it easy to distract myself from everything that’s happening. The things happening do need distracting from, and I curse the three days that went by without him. If I’d have known that this was what would have happened then I’d have found a much faster way to escape.

I brush the hair out of his face and he looks up at me hungrily. I can’t help but find myself mesmerized by his appearance. His hair is askew and everything about him just screams sex. The swollen lips stretched around my erection, and the sweaty hands with a grip around my thighs. Everything is just so dirty, but brilliant.

It barely takes any time for me to cum and I feel my face flush with embarrassment at how fast it is. It’s not exactly easy to find you’re bearings when you’ve _just_ woken up, and the sight doesn’t help much either.

Gerard’s new to this, so I don’t expect him to swallow, but he does. Is it possible for someone to be a natural at sex? If it is then Gerard would make a good example. He somehow manages to be hot and talented which is not something I can say of myself.

I’m panting with my head against the pillow when I feel his lip on my neck and I moan again helplessly. He really knows how to drive me crazy and it’s starting to become uncanny how well he knows me. Did he buy a copy of ‘Frank Iero for Dummies’? I don’t think I even know that much about myself!

I hear a small gasps from him so I open my eyes to look at him and see that he’s trying to get himself off quickly and it hypnotizes me for a minute. Seeing him fuck himself is probably the eighth wonder of the world.

“Here,” I say and lick down my hand then clasp his cock in my own hand. I can help him out there, and as soon as my hand takes over he pulls both hands up to grip my shoulders. It’s painful considering how sore I am, but not in a bad way.

Gerard cums between my fingers not long after and I can’t help but keep my eyes trained on him through his climax. He makes the most beautiful face and the dirtiest fucking moan I’ve ever heard in my life. At least if his comic gets shut down then he’ll have an illustrious career in porn.

“Did I mention I love you, because holy fuck do I love you,” I say and he giggles softly.

As we’re making lunch a few minutes later I find myself accidentally saying what’s on my mind, and by the time I catch myself it’s too late. It’s not that I didn’t know this conversation was coming but I really wish I’d chosen a better time. He’s holding a frying pan which might hurt if I piss him off too much.

“Gerard there are some things about me that if you knew, you’d never look at me the same again. You’d hate me if you knew who I was and what I’ve done.”

“Well if it’s who you were does that mean it’s in the past?”

I consider that and say, “Well yes, I’m not that person and I never want to be again-“

“Well if it’s in the past I don’t see why I should be bothered by it now,” Gerard says, “and if you’ve changed who you were than I think it’s fine if I never have to know.”

“But you would hate me. You would never want to see me again!”

“Frank, I love you _now_. I don’t care who you used to be if you’ve put that behind you! And as long as you let me understand this version of yourself than I think it’s fair to let the old version be forgotten,” Gerard says.

I look at him for a few moments waiting for him to say he needs to know or something, but he doesn’t. He just looks at me, almost scared and I think he’s just as afraid of me leaving him as I’m afraid of him leaving me.

“No he’s gone. The person I was, he’s dead now. I will never look back, but I don’t want you to hate me for not knowing,” I tell him.

“It’s not my business. As long as you’re all in now. As long as the Frank I know you to be now is who you really are, then it’s better that we both keep some things to ourselves. I understand the need to bury things you’ve done,” he says. Is he hiding something as well? I won’t ask, but I hope that whatever he’s hiding doesn’t hold the key to who’s trying to kill him.

The thing is that I just really don’t want to pull a Tess of the d'Urbervilles and tell him something that’s going to make him hate me for the rest of my life. I also don’t want to be raped by my cousin and executed for murdering said cousin, but that’s beside the point. I just really don’t want to be a controversial nineteenth century novel.

“I promise that I won’t hide anything from this point on. Nothing apart from a few things that happened before we started dating,” I say, and a part of me feels guilty for not sharing, but I just don’t want to be that person anymore. I can bury it, and I will never look back. Not when I’m with Gerard.

“Then we’re even,” he says with a nod.

“Gerard, if you want to keep your secrets that’s absolutely fine, but you can’t keep it a secret if it might have anything to do with all this shit,” I say quickly, trying to phrase what I want to say correctly.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I wouldn’t withhold stuff like that if it risked my life,” he says and there isn’t a hint of a lie in his voice so I feel relieved at that.

Maybe someday I’ll be able to let what I’ve done go, or maybe someday I’ll come to peace with it. I think it’ll be easier said than done, but I think it’s possible with Gerard’s support. I don’t even know for sure how he’d react to it. Maybe he would understand, but what we have right now is too much to risk that to be true. It would stick a divide between us and I wouldn’t have him the way I have him now. He’d always be looking over his shoulder at me and thinking about the blood on my hands.

I can’t take any of what I did back, but I can at least make an oath never to repeat that cycle. The Enigma is dead. I am not him, and I never was. He took up temporary residence in my head, but I evicted him and now this brain belongs to me alone. I’m just Frank. It sounds sad but I’m content with being just that.

“Frank, there is something I have to admit to you,” Gerard says looking scared. Oh god what is it now?

“What?” I ask him nervously.

“Well you know how you told me not to tell the cops that you were kidnapped?”

“Oh god you didn’t,” I say hoping that those words will make whatever he’s about to say stop being true.

“I panicked, Frankie! I’m sorry. I called this morning and said you were okay, but they asked what happened and I just told them everything.”

“Gerard!” I say, feeling terrified that this will put my life in even more danger.

“The cop I talked to said she’ll keep it very secret,” Gerard reassures.

“That doesn’t mean it won’t get out. If it does than it’s both of us who are going to have to pay.”

“I know and I’m sorry. They want you to speak to a sketch artist.”

I frown, but nod, “are they doing that here because I shouldn’t really leave in broad daylight?”

“On his way now. Please don’t be angry,” Gerard says and he’s eyeing me timidly, “I don’t want you to get hurt and I think this is our best option.”

~*~*~*~

Gerard finally brings up the subject of Mikey when the sketch artist leaves. I describe Mister-sadist man to him in vivid detail, because his face is ingrained in my brain. I don’t know what the other guy looked like, but I’ll remember his voice for the rest of my life.

“What do we do about Mikey?”

“I don’t know yet,” I answer, “I mean it all makes it so much harder due to the fact that I am dead. Did they find any prints on that gun?”

“Partials, whatever that means, that don’t match to Mikey.”

“Partials means they can’t get the most accurate readings from them, but it’s good that Mikey’s aren’t on there. That’s something, at least. What about the laptop, are there any prints on there?”

“Scrubbed clean,” Gerard says.

“Really? Well there’s another critical flaw in their evidence. Mikey wouldn’t have called the police to report a break in if he had a laptop in his possession with evidence to convict him. Mikey also wouldn’t have scrubbed prints off the laptop if it was his because he would have no reason to. Their damning evidence all seems to be so weak. Either Mikey is the sloppiest criminal to ever set foot on earth or he didn’t do this.”

“Well they’re not going to listen to us are they? I’m his brother, of course I think he’s innocent!”

“Yes, but the crime they think he’s guilty of is trying to murder you so there’s obviously going to be a vendetta between you and the real bad guy, so why would you relentlessly defend Mikey? You don’t want to be murdered, that’s clear, so why would you try to defend their biggest subject?”

“I don’t know?” Gerard answers.

“Something is really off about this whole thing. Something is just not computing properly. We need to talk to Mikey, I have a few more questions for him,” I say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Patrick Stump will be the death of me.


	28. The Innocence of Michael James Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikey's innocent and Frank's set out to prove it.

Mikey is behind one of those glass window things with the telephone, and it’s really disheartening to see the guy sitting there. He doesn’t belong behind that glass, I do. I hate seeing him actually in prison. He’s actually a felon at the moment.

It hasn’t been awful for him yet, but his trial is in a week which means that he has approximately eight days to live. I decide not to tell him that though, because he really doesn’t need to know he’s going to die unless it’s actually going to happen. I will not let him go down for this though. I would sooner turn myself in, but I’m really hoping that I don’t have to do that.

“Mikey, there’s a few things that aren’t adding up about what happened. I looked at the police report, okay?” I start and Mikey nods, “but the times on here don’t make sense. You reported a broken lock on your door, and didn’t touch anything, right?”

“Except the doorknob, I didn’t touch anything.”

“Explain how you found your apartment, how did you know it was broken into immediately?”

“Well I got home and put the key in the lock, but it didn’t turn so I tried the door and I just figured I’d left it unlocked or something. When I opened it I saw that the lock was completely broken so that’s how I knew. Why do you ask?”

“Well that’s what the problem is. You had to have touched the doorknob to have realized that it was broken because it wasn’t ajar or anything, according to the report,” I continue.

“Okay?”

I begin my analysis, “So I looked through the report even more and I saw that it only took four minutes for police to respond to your call. That’s way too quick for the police to have come. It should’ve taken them several more minutes, and a robbery isn’t exactly high priority so it might have even been hours, but it was only four minutes.”

“Well the guy said that he was in the neighborhood.”

“Yeah, but you live on the fourteenth floor of your building, correct?”

“Yes,” Mikey says and Gerard is starting to look at me curiously too.

“Well unless he was waiting right outside your apartment building, then there’s no way he could’ve possibly gotten all the way up to the fourteenth floor in four minutes. The elevator would have been too busy at that time of the night, and the stairs wouldn’t really have been an option either because then he’d have gotten there and been all sweaty and tired, because that’s a lot of stories to climb in under four minutes.”

“What are you getting at?”

“Well it’s possible that someone had previously reported a crime in that building and that’s why he was there, but I think it’s unlikely. I’m going to take it up with the arresting officer, but it doesn’t make any sense. Then there’s the matter of the fingerprints,” I say.

“What fingerprints?”

“See that’s the thing,” I say, “there were no finger prints almost anywhere there should have been. There were no fingerprints on the kitchen counters, there weren’t any on the coffee table, none on that laptop, and most especially none on the drawer where the gun was being kept, and none on that doorknob. Not a single pair. It was wiped clean. Now if the police were trying to convict you for attempted murder they would have been much more careful than as to contaminate your apartment. So why is it that almost every daily-used surface in your apartment was wiped clean?”

“I... I don’t know?”

“But the biggest worry is that the doorknob and drawer with the gun were wiped clean. Mikey, when you entered your apartment you grabbed the doorknob?”

“That’s right, I did,” he says and Mikey is looking at me like he knows that I’m onto something.

“And if you entered your apartment by grabbing the doorknob then how come your fingerprints weren’t found on it?”

“Beats me,” Gerard says.

“The only way that that doorknob was clean after you entered your apartment was if it had been wiped clean after you got there,” I conclude.

“Oh my god,” Mikey says looking dazzled.

“And when I looked even further through the report I saw that the time when the attending officer called for more people after arriving at the scene, was no more than three minutes later, which is an even shorter amount of time then it took for him to climb those steps.”

“I’m not following,” Mikey says.

“No neither am I,” Gerard agrees.

I roll my eyes and continue, “If he got there within four minutes, then I assume you gave him a brief summary of what happened, then began looking around your apartment, I would guess that that takes up about two minutes. How come it took him so little time to find that gun in your drawer? How did he know precisely where to look? And if he did find that gun in that drawer like the report says, then _his_ fingerprints would be on that drawer too, but it was wiped clean,” I say, and I’m starting to realize that I’d make a damn good lawyer. Or maybe a detective. Oh, I could be Sherlock Holmes, or Ellery Queen, or Shaun Spencer or something.

“Frank!” Gerard says looking amazed, “that’s fucking genius!”

He grabs me and kisses me full on, which I wouldn’t complain about if his brother wasn’t right there.

Mikey seems to be on my page and clears his throat, “ahem.”

Gerard pulls away a moment later looking red, but he doesn’t say sorry and instead says, “So it sounds like we need to have a talk with the officer that first responded.”

“You can say that again,” I tell him. “Mikey, is it okay if we head out early so that we can go clear your name?”

Mikey shrugs, “I don’t know if that’s enough to get me out of here-“

“It’s reasonable doubt. A jury will likely see that, and I think you’d fair well under the scrutiny of a trial anyway. Even if you were guilty, you just really don’t look the murdering type.”

“Well thanks I guess,” Mikey says.

~*~*~*~

We get down to the police station not long after and I hate it in here. There are so many things wrong with being surrounded by cops that it hurts. It’s a person of my professions’ worst nightmare, but this really can’t be done over the phone, because we’d sound like imbecils.

“Mr. Way, how can I help you?” It’s the same cop that came to his apartment not too long ago. I feel uncomfortable being near her, but I don’t say anything about it.

“We were wondering if we could speak with the officer who originally reported to my brother’s apartment,” Gerard says.

“This isn’t about the kidnapping?” She asks and looks at me.

“Well no, the kidnapping was done by the guy whose trying to kill Gerard, and amazingly the man behind it all managed to sort that all out from prison,” I say sourly and with spite, but she doesn’t seem to like my attitude so I shut up and start staring down at my toes.

“That was Officer Roland, I’ll go get him,” she says quickly and walks away.

I stand there looking at the plain ground which is tiled with an ugly brown color, and scuffed from dirt and shoes. This whole office sort of seems depressing to me, but I’m not really a fan of it for reasons other than its interior decorating. I don’t like _being_ a criminal, any more than the police dislike criminals.

I look up a minute later to see Gerard looking at me critically.

“You okay?”

“What? Yeah, I just don’t like it in here. No reason,” I lie to him, and then feel instant guilt.

“I can see why,” He says, but I know he doesn’t. He can’t possibly understand why I hate it in here. He just thinks I hate the feeling of it. Gloomy and hopeless, like the criminals that walk through here.

I look around him to see the female cop walking back over to us and she’s deeply wrapped in conversation with a man, another cop.

I look at him and my heart stutters a little bit. I almost fall down where I stand, and my body turns to lead as my entire brain starts to flame.

I think I might faint. I think I might _actually_ faint.

“Whoa Frankie, are you okay?”

I can barely talk right now. I’m probably ghostly pale or green. I’ve experienced sheer terror before. I’ve felt the inevitability of my own demise before, but nothing compares to this. Not a single emotion in the world compares to how I’m feeling right now.

“G-Gerard, that man,” I point to the guy who’s still walking toward us with the other cop, “th-that’s one of the men who kidnapped me.”

Gerard looks back at him in shock, and I feel my heart racing far past a healthy rate. That’s mister-sadist man. Mister-sadist man is a _cop_.

And that’s when I actually do faint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT SO I JUST FOUND OUT THAT A PARTICULAR BAND BY THE NAME OF FALL OUT BOY IS COMING TO MY CITY AND I THINK I'M DYING RIGHT NOW. No one comes to Minnesota. No one. BUT FALL OUT BOY IS (in like three months but I'm already pumped).


	29. Fucking Swooned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're determined to clear Mikey and also Frank swooned.

Who fucking faints? What kind of loser fucking faints? I’m not some delicate lady back in the eighteen hundreds whose corset is too tight! I shouldn’t faint. What kind of a loser faints anymore? I fucking swooned, which is aggravating.

I’d love to say I don’t do an epic face plant, but the truth is that I don’t know. I’m totally dead on my feet, I teeter a little bit and then I’m having a dream about Captain Malcolm Reynolds.

It takes me a little more than five minutes to convince myself to wake up, but I fucking need to. Hopefully my mind was playing tricks on me, but I’m no idiot. That douchebag of an assassin is a cop. A fucking cop? The next thing you’re about to tell me is that Gerard’s would-be murderer is a priest or a nun.

Like fucking hell, we’re dealing with cops? Cops. As in law enforcement? As in a person who could arrest me just because they don’t like my face? I mean obviously they’d have to let me go if they didn’t have any other reason besides my face, but a cop could make my life mildly inconvenient.

I remind myself again to wake up, but sleeping is nicer. It’s warmer, and I don’t have to think as hard about it. It is really warm and it smells like Gerard’s shampoo. Oh shit that is Gerard’s shampoo.

By the time I realize that I’ve inadvertently started to wake myself up, it’s too late. I’m conscious and my back hurts a little bit because this angle isn’t pleasant. I open one eye and then two. It’s really blurry, but I’m pretty sure that I’m sitting up on something painful. Once I blink away the grogginess from my eyes I see that it’s a wooden bench pressed against the wall. I’m half leaning against the bench and half leaning against Gerard with his arm around me, and my head was probably tucked under his own head a second ago.

“Please tell me I did not actually faint,” I say.

“No, you did. That really happened.”

I sigh, “That’s fucking degrading.”

“What did you mean about that cop, Frankie?” Gerard asks, getting straight to the point. I don’t really blame him, I did make a pretty cavalier accusation.

“That cop was one of the kidnappers. Unless he has an evil twin and we’re apart of parallel dimension where Soap Opera’s actually happen, which I highly doubt, then that guy was there in that car and that warehouse when I was kidnapped.”

I look around a little more to see that we’re still in the police station. People are walking around and no one looks twice at me or Gerard. I don’t see the lady cop who was talking to us, but I also don’t see mister-sadist man. I don’t know if I should be happy about that or sad. For one thing, I fainted which probably made a scene, and with my luck, he saw me. If he saw me then he’ll realize that I’m not dead. There’s an even bigger number of reasons why we shouldn’t have told the police then. On the off chance that mister-sadist man didn’t already know I was alive, he almost certainly does now. I guess I should be glad he’s not here now or I’d spend a night in lock up for attacking an officer. I’d be okay with that though. That bitch tried to kill me, it’s the least he deserves, and I could really fuck him up.

If he knows I’m alive though that means he’ll probably come after me again which I’m not too eager about. I don’t think I’m going to be able to escape death twice like that. They’ll have learned from their mistakes I’m sure.

“Frank,” Gerard says and I feel him rest his forehead on my shoulder, but I don’t turn to look at him, “do you realize how that sounds?”

“I realize how it sounds! I sound like I’m mental, but I am not making this shit up!” I say, with a mixture of anger and desperation.

“I’m not saying I don’t believe you, because I do. If you say that that guy was there when you were taken then he _was_ there, but do you realize that they’re not going to believe us? He’s a freaking cop!”

“I would swear on my own life that it was him though! They have to at least look into it don’t they? What did the other cop say? Did you say anything about it?”

“I thought it would be better to talk to you first,” Gerard says, “but if you want to tell her I wouldn’t argue. If that man hurt you then he needs to pay for it.”

I turn to look at Gerard and he looks so determined. Don’t want to get on his bad side, because he looks ready to punch something. Maybe he’d be okay with kissing something, or someone so I grab him. Not sure if I’m trying to calm him down or myself, but I don’t think the two are mutually exclusive so by the time I pull away I’m feeling a little better and Gerard still looks sexy as hell, but not necessarily angry. Though I have to admit that he was hot when he was mad.

“Where did he go then? Did he see me? Oh god, he saw me, didn’t he? What about talking to him, I wanted to talk to him! What was his name again?”

“Roland,” Gerard replies, “Officer Roland, and he left the office about a minute after you fainted.”

“What do you mean he left? He just up and left, like nothing? That’s messed up.”

“Well I couldn’t exactly stop him could I? ‘Hey you sir my friend who is out cold thinks you kidnapped him a few days ago would you mind turning yourself into one of the many people around you?’”

“Sounds stupid, doesn’t it?” I confirm after Gerard says that.

“Oh god, who’s going to believe me? Who in the hell is going to believe us? First you’re brother is sent to jail and now we look so desperate that we’re aiming the finger at a fucking cop? Motherfucking shit!”

“Well Frank, not so fast, what about the fingerprint thing? That’s something! We might at least get enough of a reaction if we try to explain what happened!”

“How about we leave the part out about _Officer Roland_ until the very end then? That way our attention grabber isn’t ‘hey you have a dirty cop in your midst who likes chucking bodies in the ocean’ because that’s a little confrontational if you ask me,” I reply.

“Well you’re going to have to do it then because that’s exactly what I had planned on saying,” Gerard jokes, and I can’t stand how adorable he is.

He’s like a sex god trapped inside the mind of a gigantic nerd. He is a fucking dork though. I would love to see him at a nerd convention like comic con. He’d light up like a Christmas tree. Kid in a candy store wouldn’t even begin to describe it. He’d be so cute that the earth might implode. I’m going to have to make it a point to see that someday. Hopefully a day where Mikey is alive and Gerard’s killer is behind bars. At this point I don’t even know if I’d object to seeing his killer strapped to a table with a needle in his arm.

Whomever it is that’s trying to hurt Gerard he’ll be lucky if the cops find him first, because I would definitely fuck _him_ up. Or her. If that note was written by someone else then it could easily be a boy or a girl, though I don’t think it’s a chick. Maybe I’m just too invested in the whole thing, but it feels like the mind of a man to me, but I’m not ruling anything out. Also what kind of a girl, unless she’s a lesbian, would want to ruin Gerard’s face? That would be a travesty in and of itself. No right-minded person would want to kill Gerard at all if they knew him. Sure he’s got his secrets, but I can’t find it in me to imagine that anything he’s done is that bad. He could think the same thing about me though, which is what’ll keep me on my feet right now.

A few minutes later we call over the cop and ask to have a word with her about the connection between my kidnapping and Gerard’s killer.

I’d love to say that I find myself talking to her an hour later and she’s keeping an open mind, but she actually gave us both this stone cold look and left us sitting in an empty room feeling hopeless.

I’d also like to say that two hours later we’d left by now, but we haven’t. We’re still sitting in this little room, waiting. It’s been so long since anyone came in to talk to us that I wonder if we’re mean to leave, but she told us not to before she left an hour ago.

Three hours later and we’ve had a five minute conversation with some fidgety little cop who looks new.

Three turn into four and I’m getting hungry and tired. The only thing there is to do is talk to each other, but it’s really hard to have a normal conversation when there’s the possibility of someone listening in.

I think it’s about eight at night and some number of hours later, when we’re finally given permission to leave. Every cop in the entire room when we leave is glaring at us, and I can’t say that I blame them. We did just accuse their coworker of attempted murder, and that’s not exactly something people like hearing. Oh god I’m being murdered a million times a minute in their heads I can just tell. One of them wants me mauled by bears and someone wants me to be burned alive.

Despite how angry we seem to have made this department of cops, I don’t regret coming clean about it. This Officer Roland character tried to have me killed, and that is by no means okay.

Just as we’re leaving the floor someone stops us and my heart sinks. We were finally leaving! I wanted to leave! Just go, and be away from the scary cops for a little while. God must hate me.

An unfamiliar officer catches us just as we’re on our way out and he says a string of words that seem completely unreal. Absolutely freaking fairytale, but still I follow his mouth with my eyes and it’s not in my head. He actually says that.

The officer looks at us directly and says, “Officer Roland is dead. He’s been murdered.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You ever notice that I talk way too much about Patrick Stump and he isn't even in this story?


	30. Shoot Straight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well this is kind of an important chapter.

“So they’re letting Mikey out of jail,” Gerard says, hanging up the phone.

“That’s great!” I say.

“I think so,” he says, but there’s something else there. Something is wrong that I’m not picking up on.

“That’s the best news I’ve heard all year Gerard, what could you possibly be upset about?”

“Officer Roland. He’s dead. Dead, Frank! He had answers. He was the only lead we had, and he’s gone. He could’ve told us what he knew, he was an asset, and now he’s just dead.”

I frown, “but Mikey’s okay. Gerard think about it this way, if we hadn’t gone to that office today Mikey’s life would still be in danger. If we hadn’t been interrogated and held at the station for however many hours then one or both of us might have been suspects in this guy’s murder. Today is a good day, Gerard. It’s a triumph not a loss.”

“You say that but look at what they’ve done Frank. Look at what they’ve done. They tried to kill you. They tried to kill me. Everyone is being put at risk by all this shit and it’s my fucking fault!”

“You can’t blame yours-”

“I can blame myself, and I do! This is all my fault. Whatever I’ve done, whoever I’ve pissed off it’s ripping a hole in my life, and everyone who I love!” he raises his voice looking at me pleadingly. I don’t know what he wants from me, I want him to understand that this isn’t his fault. There’s nothing he could’ve done that would deserve this type of wrath. Nothing. He may have done something bad, but no one deserves this.

“Gerard, stop it,” I say shortly, “you’re hot-headed and rash right now.”

“Don’t you get it? This is all because of me. If I had just been fucking killed that first time like I was meant to than none of this would have happened. None of this! Okay, none of this shit would’ve happened. If I were just dead then everyone would be so much better off, Frank.”

“Don’t you dare say that!” I yell back at him, “Don’t you dare fucking say we’d be better off without you.”

“You would!”

“Damn it. I love you, Gerard, and hearing you say that is ripping my heart out!”

He replies with his voice cold and scared, “Why didn’t he just shoot fucking straight Frank? That day two months ago, why didn’t that first assassin just shoot straight?”

“Gerard,” I plead with him.

“I wouldn’t have been a target anymore. I wouldn’t have put Mikey in danger, or you, and everything would all have been so much better if I’d just died. If I died now than no one would be out there right now trying to kill me.”

“Please, Ger-“

“Why didn’t he just fucking shoot straight Frank?” he says raising his voice. “Why couldn’t I have never met you, and never put you in fucking danger! Why couldn’t I have died that day and kept Mikey safe? I just want to keep Mikey safe, and you safe but I can’t do that, because I’m just in everybody’s fucking way.”

I actually feel myself crying now and I just want him to stop talking. Stop blaming himself, and just _stop_.

Gerard looks down at his hands and his head looks heavy on his shoulders like he’s trying not to fall down.

In a whisper he says again, “why couldn’t he just shoot straight?”

Gerard looks up at me and his eyes make stiff contact with mine, “why didn’t you just shoot straight, Frankie?”

My mouth dries instantly and my heart stops.

“What did you just say?” I ask him, and every syllable is hard to back up with sound.

“Why couldn’t you have just killed me Frank? Everything would be so much better off. You’d be safe. Mikey would be safe. You wouldn’t have been dragged anymore into this,” he says calmer than I could have ever thought possible for a statement of that nature.

“Gerard?” I say trying to think, or just concentrate. Anything, really. How could he...? How does he? He’s not guessing though, or asking, he’s just stating. As if it’s something we had talked about earlier. He seems so calm about it, how is he so calm? I’m not calm, how is he? I’m dying. Literally exploding, and there he is looking like he just told me the weather report.

“I don’t want to be dead, Frank, but I don’t want you or Mikes to be either. I would rather die myself then see you dead and it looks like we’re all going to be.”

“Gerard,” I say again trying to find the right sentence. It all seems so surreal. When I pictured him finding out I thought it’d include a lot of yelling, maybe some throwing of cutlery and china. I expected police sirens and crying. Gerard doesn’t even look scared. What’s going on?

“How d-did you find out?” I ask feeling empty.

“What?” he looks totally baffled, “now’s not the time for that Frank.”

“Like hell it isn’t!” I say finding my voice again, “Why aren’t you mad? Or scared? How long have you known? How did you find out? Most importantly, if you know what I am then why do you still love me?”

“Because I do, Frank,” Gerard replies, “It’s not something that can just be helped. I love you and there’s nothing you can do about that.”

“I love you to Gerard, but I need answers. Tell me how you found out.”

He shakes his head, “Frank, I have to die so that no one will hurt you, or Mikey.”

“Gerard I won’t let anyone touch you, okay? I won’t let anyone hurt you ever. I wouldn’t let anyone do that. Not to you. I love you too Gerard, but right now I want to fucking hit you for being so stupid. It’s not your fault, it’s mine!”

“You were doing your job, how is it your fault?” Gerard says, and I can’t stand how he’s still ignoring my questions.

I pause for a moment and get what’s bothering me out of my way before continuing, “You know that I love you though? You know that I wouldn’t hurt you. Not now that I know you, and I’ve invested in your personality. I may have shot at you, but I love you and it’s vital that you know that.”

“Of course I know Frank,” he shrugs it off easily, “but it doesn’t change the fact that someone wants you dead. I could never live with the knowledge that it’s my fault you died. I can barely live with the fact of knowing that you _almost_ died.”

“How long have you known then?”

He groans, and sounds annoyed when he says, “about a week Frank. You knew too much about assassins. It was always in the back of my mind, but I didn’t believe it until I just sort of knew.”

“But how could you be sure?”

“You sent that note Frank,” Gerard says, “the one with the handwriting. I know you did. You’ve been trying to keep me alive, and it turned the tables on you when they tried to have you killed.”

“But how?” I repeat still not understanding. There’s so many different topics at hand that I can’t even sort it out in my head.

“Two different assassins Frank. The first one gave up. Now why would he do that? Then I thought about all the times you could’ve killed me, and I looked at Mikey and I don’t know. I knew you wouldn’t hurt me. I really love you Frank, and I just don’t believe that this could be an act. I don’t want to sound like I’m some expert, because I definitely am not, but you can’t fake this. You can’t fake what’s between us.”

“And you’re okay with what I did? I retired because of you, I really do love you Gerard,” I tell him.

“I have to be okay with what you did. It’s called compromise. You might not like me so much if I told you all my secrets.”

“Gerard, you just accepted that I’m an assassin, I’m pretty sure there’s nothing you could have done that would be worse than my baggage.”

“Maybe not worse, no,” Gerard says, “but I did something really bad. Two things actually, but they’re related.”

“You don’t have to tell me though-“

Gerard interrupts me, “no I will. Just not today. What you’ve done is worse, and I’m not going to deny that, but I do accept it. I really love you, Frank. When you tried to tell me this morning in the kitchen, I was nervous too. I knew I was in love with you, but you basically solidified the fact that you’ve changed and I’m okay with it now. I just don’t want to lose you. Whatever part of you that used to be an assassin, I believe that he’s gone. And if he’s not then I’d rather be with you anyway.”

“Don’t worry, it is behind me,” I say, and this all feels honestly too good to be true.

“Good,” Gerard says with a small smile, “and I want you to know that this doesn’t change anything between us. It changes nothing. I still love you, and I trust you. I shouldn’t but I do.”

“You’re so perfect you know that? I can’t believe you accept this.”

“Well I am pretty amazing. But I love you so much, that it was never really a question. Frank, I lost my virginity to you, and I’d never gotten the chance to say I love you to someone who deserved it as much as you did. Besides, thinking about it, I kind of understand why you did what you did. Money, and we’ve all done terrible things for money,” Gerard says vaguely and doesn’t continue. I don’t ask anymore, but I think he just gave me a hint as to whatever it is that he did. To be perfectly honest, I don’t care. I just really love him, and he accepts me, so there’s nothing else I could care about right now. Apart from the blame he puts on himself.

“But I don’t want you to blame yourself, Gerard. I’ll make you a promise, okay? I promise to never hurt you, ever. I will never harm you, but you need to promise that you won’t sacrifice yourself. Not for me, not for Mikey.”

Gerard sighs, “It would all be so much easier-“

“Gerard, you may think you’d be saving us both, but life would be nothing without you. You add so much color to my life. Granted, that color is mostly red, but I love it anyway,” I say, and it probably isn’t the best time for jokes but I go for it anyway.

“You can say all those things but that doesn’t make it any less my fault,” Gerard says.

“It isn’t. Listen to me, I would break apart if you were to blame yourself. And nothing is going to happen anyway because we are going to catch this son of a bitch, and then everything will be better. Everything will be better, you’ll see. You just have to believe that we’re not outmatched.”

“We aren’t, but we’re in the dark. We don’t know what enemy we’re fighting, but they know. They know everything, Frank. They know my life from head to foot. They know things even before I know things. They knew I loved you before I even did and they used it against me.”

“And we’re going to make them pay for the pain they’ve caused,” I say, “just promise me.”

“I promise. I love you, Frank,” he says, and I hope to god that he’s telling the truth.

“I still don’t understand why.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter originally went a lot differently, but I think I like this version better.


	31. Breaking in Bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breaking and taking.

“Just because I accept it doesn’t mean I want to participate in it.”

“I’m not asking you to kill a guy I’m just asking you to break into a house.”

“A dead guy’s house!”

I’ve been getting complaining from Gerard for twenty minutes. I don’t know what he expects from me? Just because Officer Roland is a dead guy doesn’t mean I’m going to let him off the hook for throwing me into a large body of water to die. It’s been two days! The cops can’t really care that much, can they? He’s a dead guy with apparent proof that he’s a horrible man. They found files on his body or something that incriminate him. The lady cop wasn’t happy about the fact that I was being truthful about that, but I’m alright with it.

I want to see what else he’s got in his home. I’m much more familiar with the workings of this life then the cops. Sure the cops know the rudiments, but they haven’t a clue what it’s like in the mind of someone like myself. They don’t know the mechanics or the details.

“You don’t have to do any actual breaking in, I’ve just never broke into a cops house,” I tell him.

“Oh, so you’ve broken into other peoples apartments then,” he states.

“Dude, I broke into _you’re_ apartment even. And Mikey’s. It’s not that hard if you don’t take anything,” I tell him.

“Forgive me for being abnormally vanilla, but isn’t the point of breaking into someone’s home to take stuff? Isn’t that the point?”

“There’s burglary and then there’s looking around. I don’t take things usually, that’s for robbers. I’m not like that. Well, sometimes I hide the TV remote to tick people off, but I don’t generally steal things from homes,” I say. I leave the part out where I pick-pocket things because something’s don’t need to be said.

“So hold on, is there a specific academy for all things illegal that I’m unaware of?” Gerard exasperates, and he looks completely lost. He’s leaning against the bedroom door with his head against the wood and his eyes trained on the ceiling.

“Naw, you just learn these things. It’s not that hard. Wear gloves, pick up any and all shell casings, never put on cologne, keep your head down, and your face away from cameras,” I say, “the skill comes in not getting caught. Anyone can commit a crime, but only few can get away with it.”

“But you’re retired?” he says.

“From killing people. I made no promise about breaking in. I don’t want to steal anything, that’s not my thing, I just want to take a look around. And as soon as you’re safe then I’m completely done with the business, but I’m not going to stand back and let someone try to hurt you.”

Gerard groans, “But I don’t want to, like, do that! It’s illegal! It’s bad! Can’t you do this by yourself?”

I turn to him and frown, “Gerard, the cops are idiots. They’re not going to get the answers I can get. They don’t have the power nor the jurisdiction. It’s not that hard, Gerard! All I need you to do is tell me if someone’s about to come in. Just watch my back and I’ll have more answers hopefully.”

“And how will I know if someone’s coming?”

“Simple, he lived in a condo. Entrance is off the parking lot. Clear view of the front door for anyone whose looking. Swanky place too. Wasn’t paid for with no cop money, that’s for sure. Either our dead friend had a rich dead relative who left him an inheritance or he had a not-so-legal side job,” I tell him.

“You can’t know that. Maybe it was just a onetime thing? He could’ve gotten that cash somewhere else!”

“Well Gerard, I may have swiped his file from the police and made a copy of it, and I can tell you that he didn’t win the lottery, nor does he have a gambling habit. Usually with these things, the most obvious answer is the right one. He’s a bad man. Did bad things. Didn’t do bad things because he had to, he did ‘em because he could. There’s a difference between wanting to see people in pain, and wanting to live another day. This guy was a sadist in every sense of the word. Liked seeing people squirm, and not in the good way. I’m not like that, nor have I ever had the desire to be like that. He wasn’t in it for the money, that was just a plus. He was in it for the fun. That’s a scary thing for a man to be. I maybe a Reynolds, but I ain’t no Niska,” I may still have Firefly on my mind from that dream, but it’s as good a comparison as any.

~*~*~*~

It takes me about an hour and quite a few consolations to finally convince Gerard to help me out. I may owe him a few blow jobs, but I’m okay with that. I just need to get into that house. I need to see what it is that mister-sadist man might have to help me work things out. I’m not going to say that the police are _completely_ incompetent, but they are at least incredibly incompetent.

It’s about dinner time which means the traffic is a little heavy, but his place is off of a main street, and not overly busy, so I should be good. I’m a little nervous that there might be some cop observation, but I don’t see any, and I don’t intend to leave it looking like I broke in anyway. If I have to I will, but this place hasn't been lived in since the guy died which means he probably left it in a state where he fully intended to come back. There might be an open window, but there’s probably a key hidden somewhere. Sure, the cops will have taken a look around, but they’re not looking in the right places.

I leave Gerard sitting anxiously across the street and then I walk quickly to the front door of Officer Roland’s house.

With my gloves on, I check above the door but there’s nothing. No door mat, but there’s a flower pot. No key under there, and I peek over to the window, but I doubt I’m going to need it. Mikey kept his key in the lamp shade next to his door. I never actually did break into Gerard’s because he invited me in so easily, but I told him that to keep him on his guard. It’ll keep him wary of the fact that it’s possible. There isn’t a lamp shade outside of this apartment though, so

I look at the plant again. It’s dead, and I don’t really want to go digging my hand into the dirt, but there’s a section of rocks in front of the house for decoration. I angle my eyes to look at them from a different angle to spot any of them that look out of place, but none of them do.

Maybe he doesn’t have a hidden key. I mean he is a cop, he probably knows better. But this is New York, quite a few people do. I grab a pen from my pocket and stick it into the dirt of the flower pot, searching for something off, or something solid. It hits something so I dig out a hole and grab the object. It’s just another rock. I frown, almost ready give up and go for the window until I realize the rock is hollow. There it is. People are so stupid! Don’t hide a key. It’s only ever going to cause you trouble.

The key is inside the rock which turns out to be just a weighted hunk of plastic with a hollow section built specifically for spare keys. I do really hate how easy it is to break into peoples places sometimes. They have no creativity.

Nevertheless I enter the apartment, but not before I make sure to give Gerard a wink. I don’t see his response, but I hope he rolls his eyes at me.

The condo is bland. Minimal furniture, and everything is mismatched. According to his file at the police station he’s unmarried and his apartment only confirms that. No woman in their right mind would buy a blue kettle and yellow forks. He needs an interior decorator. Well, ‘needed’, he’s dead now so it’s not going to be of much use. Maybe Gerard could’ve helped him out with the furnishing, he has a nice place. I might think that though just because it’s Gerard’s, but it is still pretty nice.

There’s no sign that anyone’s been through here recently even though I know they have. That’s kind of what cops do when they’re investigating a murder. The first thing I check is the stack of papers on his desk, but I don’t see anything that looks helpful. I look through the cabinet by the couch and I find a bunch of stuff on taxes, but nothing else.

I don’t know how other people hide stuff, but I keep important things away from the open. I keep a lot of stuff in the DVD case of my favorite movie, and I know that that’s probably just me, but I open the cabinet under the TV and look through the rows of movies anyway. I don’t know what Officer Roland’s favorite movie is, but I look at some of the more popularly favorite movies. Nothing in the case for The Shawshank Redemption or The Godfather. He does have the movies Training Day and Lakeview Terrace so I can’t help but dwell on how ironic it would be if he kept things in there. Unfortunately, both are empty aside from the discs, but it would’ve been funny if he had.

There’s not really anywhere to hide anything in his apartment. I check a few nooks but there’s nothing in the living room. There’s some milk in the refrigerator that went bad even before the guy died, which grosses me out a little, but I walk away. He really needed a girlfriend or boyfriend or something because his hygiene is monstrous.

The bathroom is pretty basic, and there’s nothing hidden in the tank of the toilet, though that’s an outdated trick anyway.

In his bedroom, which hasn’t seen action in several years, is pretty minimal as well. There’s nothing between the mattress and the box springs, there’s a porn collection in the sock drawer, and there’s something that looks like it may have been food once that I’m going to pretend I didn’t see under the bed.

I don’t find anything at all in his apartment until I finally find his secret stash in the worst place possible. He hollowed out a copy of the fucking Bible! Now, even I know that’s wrong. I only realize that it’s hollow after I check the bookshelf, but once I look through a few of the sheets of paper in there, I realize that I’ve found the goods. No one is really going to miss this if I take it, so I grab the Bible and tuck it under my shirt, then hurry out of the condo and across the street to Gerard.

“Find anything?” Gerard asks as soon as he sees me.

“Oh yeah. Officer Roland was a filthy man with no respect for Jesus.”


	32. Don't Wanna Give Anything Away But You Will Find Out Who The Bad Guy is Either Next Chapter Or After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun... DUN!

“Fucking codenames!” I yell for the umpteenth time today.

“I’m with you there,” Gerard repeats.

Apparently Officer Roland is stupid enough to leave a key in a potted plant, but smart enough to use codenames when plotting to murder people. There aren’t any real names which makes the whole trip seem pretty pointless. Obviously it wasn’t because there’s a lot of other stuff in the notes, but I really wish there were a bright yellow laminated card that says who the culprit is. Maybe if I rob the body there’s

There’s plans in here on kidnapping ‘the boyfriend’ because they were apparently too stupid to figure out my name. I’m a little offended by that to be perfectly honest. There’s the instructions on accusing Mikey as well, so that was carried out specifically by Officer Roland. I know I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but really, this guy was a douche.

Apart from the cop, there seems to be several other people involved in this thing. Its like a conspiracy. There’s more people involved than I could have imagined. There’s a record of two hired assassins, one of them having been myself, and another who I suspect was the Slav I’ve been calling señor balaclava. From what I’ve been able to tell all the codenames are famous twentieth century authors. Señor balaclava goes by the name of Yeats, Officer Roland was Hemingway, and the shot-caller is Kipling. That’s all I have to go on though. Kipling is the one who wants Gerard dead.

There’s someone by the name of Hughes, who is apparently close to Gerard, but it doesn’t say anything other than that. I have to wonder who Hughes is though. These people are well connected, so whoever he is, it’s someone Gerard knows. Someone I may have met even. That’s pretty scary.

It looks like there’s a total of twelve people in on this thing, excluding myself and Roland, but we’re still nowhere closer to finding out who it is that’s trying to kill Gerard. Something tells me that Steinbeck and Faulkner didn’t rise from their graves specifically to conspire over Gerard’s death and neither did any of the other authors.

“Frankie, can we just go to bed?” Gerard says, “Nothing’s going to change, people will still want me dead tomorrow, we can worry about it then.”

“It’s not really like we have any other choice but to deal with it tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day. I think you’re going to have some complications with your comic soon, according to this schedule. Do you want to warn your editor or publisher that they’re about to be blackmailed?”

“That’s an odd thing to say to someone over the phone, don’t you think?”

I shrug, “it’s an odd thing to say under any circumstances.”

“Well, it’s midnight, I think I’ll wait until tomorrow,” Gerard says.

“Suit yourself,” I say to him, “I think I’m going to stay up a little while longer looking through these papers.”

“Fraaaank,” Gerard whines and he puts his head on the top of the couch next to me. I look at him amused at the gaze in his eyes. He scrunches his nose at me and sticks his tongue out, but I just smile at him.

“Aren’t you going to bed?” I ask him a minute later when he hasn’t moved. He has taken to looking over my shoulder at the papers. They’re all scrunched up and look well-read. My guess is that whoever señor balaclava is, he’s the guy who ended up killing Roland. He seems to be their new resident assassin. My replacement. He’s not as good as me, having left evidence at the crime scenes, but at least he had the sense to wear a mask. It makes me wonder if he thought I might get away, and that’s why he wore it.

My theory is that when Officer Roland realized I wasn’t dead, he fled the police station and met up with señor balaclava to ask what he was to do, and it ended up backfiring. People don’t like it when you screw up like that, and because of the fact that they know I’m alive, he died. The knowledge that I’m alive and well is almost a definite now, which means that they’re going to come back for Gerard. The plot to ruin his life has failed so they’ll likely just do the original job. I’m not happy about that, but at least Mikey’s life isn’t a ticking time bomb. Gerard’s very well might be, but he does have me. As annoying as it sounds, I do know how to protect him fairly well.

“I’m waiting for you,” Gerard tells me, and he juts his lip out hoping to convince me.

“It’s not going to work, Gerard. I’m just going to look through these a few more times,” I say. There aren’t very many papers, only seven, but I’m trying to memorize every single word. The only thing I know is that whoever has it out for Gerard has a lot of power. He’s someone with connections to a lot of people who are all willing to listen to what he says, even if that includes murder. My guess is that this guy is a very bad man. Someone you’d never want to meet. It kills me to think that Gerard’s caught the attention of someone like that, but I can’t help what’s true and what’s not.

If I could rewrite this story then I already know the plot. At least I’m not an assassin though. It’s still a part of my identity, but in a completely different way. It actually feels so freeing for Gerard to know. It’s not as awful as I’d imagined. Gerard is way more amazing then I ever gave him credit for, and I’m starting to realize that I actually underestimated him. He’s way more perfect than I ever gave him credit for.

“Why are you still waiting?” I ask him five minutes later. Every minute of which I was just waiting for him to straighten himself up and walk away, but he hasn’t. He’s a stubborn guy, I’ll give him that. He’s also pretty persuasive, but he’s not laying it down too much right now. Like I said though, this guy would make a boss magician, because he’d ask you to see something and you’d see it.

Maybe he could be a hypnotist, because his eyes alone are good at convincing me to do just about anything. To be perfectly honest I’ve never really been the kind of guy who goes or brown or hazel eyes. I prefer green myself, but there’s something about Gerard’s that make my heart stutter. I might be crazy, but he makes me melt. His eyes are the sun and I’m an ice cube on the pavement. Every time he lights up a room with his presence, I feel myself coming undone.

“Come on, Frankie,” he complains, “come to bed.”

I roll my eyes and look at the papers. Anywhere but at him, because if I look at him I’ll probably give in. I haven’t lost my pride, despite that little incident at the dock when my feet were tied together. That was a low point for me.

Gerard doesn’t say anything for a minute and I hear him groan when I don’t reply, then feel his breath on my neck. I’m not going to let him win that easily though, and besides I’m trying to save his life here.

“Come to bed, Frankie,” he repeats, and then in a sultry voice he whispers in my ear, “I’ll make it worth your while.”

With that he stands up and walks away. That fucking devil. It becomes a million times harder to decide what to do now because on the one hand I want to get this done so I can save Gerard, but on the other...

Yeah okay, no question about it.

I get up a minute later and follow behind him quickly.

~*~*~*~

It’s sometime in the late morning when I wake up. I’m not sure what pulled me out of sleep, but I feel really content to just by wrapped in Gerard’s arms. He’s facing me and I look at him still sleeping calmly. His hair isn’t in too bad a shape this morning, and his mouth is open to let the air in.

I’m starting to get used to seeing him asleep and I never want to have to stop. He’s just so damn adorable at pretty much all hours of the day, but especially like this. When all his worries are completely lost from his face and his entire body has just relaxed. I hope to see him so comfortable when he’s conscious soon, but that’s only going to happen if he’s safe from being killed.

It’s getting ridiculous how much shit he’s been put through. He deserves none of it, and I can’t help but loathe every person who wants to hurt him. I hate myself quite a bit for almost doing that very thing, but I’m glad I missed.

Obviously I wouldn’t have known what I was missing out on if he’d died, but I think fate had a hand in at least part of this situation. Maybe the universe ships us, and that’s why it’s all working out.

I get lost for just a few seconds looking at him, having gone through a whirlwind of thoughts in record time.

I only snap out of my thoughts when I hear something in the kitchen. Judging by the noise though it’s not something, it’s someone.


	33. The Legacy of a Dead Poet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remind me never to piss off Frank.

Pants. Pants are a good idea. Maybe no time for underwear, but pants.

I shake Gerard awake quickly and put a finger to my lips for him to be quiet. He looks lost for a moment and watches me get up and grab the only heavy object I can find, which is a glass paperweight on the nightstand.

“Frank-” more movement from outside makes Gerard shut up. His eyes widen as he realizes what’s going on.

Honestly, I’ve never snuck up on someone sneaking up on someone before. It seems like it should be pretty easy because he thinks I don’t know he’s sneaking up on me, but really I do know he’s sneaking up on me, so I can turn the tables on him and sneak up on him sneaking up on me.

Alright, well I’ve got to go now while I still have the upper hand. I hold out a hand for Gerard to stay there, but he looks at me like I’m mad. I already knew he was stubborn, but damn is he layering it on pretty heavily.

I roll my eyes, and frown. I can tell that whoever is out there is _right_ out there. Probably on the other side of the door if I’m not mistaken.

I’ve always kind of wanted to hit someone with a door, so I’m killing two birds with one stone. I grab the handle and turn it slowly, waiting for whoever is on the other side to grab ahold of it.

I feel the door being subtly tugged open so I go for it and wham it open. A painful sounding thud follows and I smirk, then walk out to look at the guy who’s just fallen to the ground.

“Oh I’m sorry I didn’t see you there,” I say to him. His face is covered, but I’d recognize that ski mask anywhere. It’s the Slav who helped kidnap me! Señor balaclava! I’ve been yearning for this reunion for a while now, and finally I have my chance.

“Yeats I presume,” I say to him and bend down to hold him to the ground with my knee. “You know I read some of your poetry in eighth grade and I have to say, you’re a little wordy. Lots of fifty-cent words.”

The guy somehow looks unamused through a ski mask.

I hear the door creak behind me and Gerard peeks out. He’s a little underdressed given the occasion, with only boxers, but I don’t say anything, it would be rude.

“Hey Gerard,” I say and he waves back at me. Señor balaclava grabs at me and tries to pull me off of him, but he’s not in a good position right now. I look around and see that his gun fell to the ground.

“Hey Gerard, could you hand me that gun?” I ask him. Gerard looks stunned for a moment, but steps over to it and then pick the gun up like it’s a bomb.

“Oh grow up, it’s on safety!” I say taking it from him. It’s not the kind of gun I’d use, but at least señor balaclava thought enough to put a silencer on it.

“You’re not going to kill him are you?” Gerard asks me.

“What? No, probably not,” I say and look down at him. “Would you mind calling the police, maybe?”

Gerard makes a sound, and says, “Right, of course. Sorry.”

I grab the guy by the collar of his shirt and slam his head into the floor so that maybe he’ll stop struggling a little bit.

Gerard walks into the kitchen and I look back at the guy trying to escape beneath me. I want to know who he is though so I pull the ski mask off of him to study the assassin who replaced me.

He’s not very good looking, and I’ve never seen him before. His hair is strawberry blond with specks of grey matted in. His face is thin and red from either adrenaline or lack of oxygen due to my knee pressed into his clavicle.

“Kind of an ugly little bastard aren’t you?” I mock, and he looks at me enraged.

“On their way,” Gerard shouts.

I turn to him and give him a thumbs up after he says that, which gives señor balaclava an opportunity to try and overthrow me.

He’s not incredibly successful, but he does manage to topple me from him, and scramble to his feet. I watch him scamper away, but he looks dizzy from when I hit him.

Gerard makes a shrieking noise, but I fire a warning shot at the wall next to señor balaclava which makes him halt in his place.

“Turn around!” I tell him, and señor balaclava does, which brings him face to face with me, but I’m still several yards away.

“Sorry about your wall Gerard,” I say, and walk closer to señor balaclava who is still frozen in place, having realized that I still have his gun.

“Huh? Oh, ‘S okay,” Gerard says, and señor balaclava tries to inch away from me.

“I will kill you,” I tell him, “and trust me, I am a very good shot.”

He makes a face that says ‘prove it’ and I smile at him.

I’m not going to get anywhere with him if he’s dead so I aim for the right knee cap. That’s going to really fucking hurt and he won’t be getting away like that. When the police ask, I can plead self-defense, because after all, that’s all it really is.

I point the gun at him and fire before he even realizes I’m not kidding. The noise is quiet due to the silencer, and Gerard only realizes what’s happened when the guy screams out.

“Frank!” he squeals.

“Don’t worry, he’s not dead,” I say and walk over to him. He’s fallen to the floor, and I think that, regrettably, he’s going to leave a bloodstain in Gerard’s nice rug.

“Hello again,” I say looking at him, and I pull him onto his feet, slamming him into the wall. He’s slouching because of the bullet that just shattered his knee, so I don’t look nearly as short as I am.

“Who hired you to kill Gerard?” I ask, gripping his shirt so tight that it’s clawing at the back of his neck.

“Frank, I called the police, just let them handle it!” Gerard begs, but I can’t let this lead go. Not now. I need to know who wanted me to kill him.

“Who hired you?” I ask again. The man shakes his head and he looks actually scared. He should be. He has no idea who he’s dealing with, but if he did he’d tell me everything. If he knew who I was, he’d tell me where the lost city of gold is and his social security number.

I push him to the ground and he makes a painful sound when he hits his head against the hard floor, but I don’t let up. I just pin him down, and look at him fiercely.

I grab his wrist firmly in my own. I know how to make people squirm, never make that mistake, I just choose not to.

“Who hired you? You’ve got to understand that I’m not fucking around here. I will kill you, and I won’t regret it in the slightest,” I say, and I apply pressure. He gulps and I can tell that he’s trying to keep himself from crying out.

“I’m going to ask you one more time, or you’re going to have to explain to the police how you broke every single one of your fingers when were you breaking in here,” I warn him. I will break his fingers. That’s no lie.

“You couldn’t,” he says and I detect that Slovak accent.

“Watch me,” I reply, and I do something I’m not so proud of. I break that little fucker’s pinky finger easily. I feel the bone crack, and it’s chilling, but I don’t regret it. This time he can’t stop from screaming, and my gaze doesn’t falter the tiniest bit. I can feel Gerard’s eyes at my back and he’s probably just as scared of me as this guy is, but I don’t stop.

“Now! Tell me. _Now_.”

“No,” he spits at me.

Finger two goes down. This time I choose his pointer finger. That’s going to be inconvenient for him, so I hope he appreciates my determination.

“Ah!” He screams loudly.

“You have eight more chances, you really want me to get that far?” I advise.

“Frank! Stop,” Gerard says, and he puts his hand on my shoulder, but I shrug it away.

“The cops can’t _convince_ him to spill the same way I can. Not under the law that is,” I answer. “And this... well this is just self-defense. Or at least we can tell the police it was.”

The guy says nothing, but he looks ready to murder me in Gerard’s place.

“You have something to say to me?” I ask. He doesn’t move or do anything, he just glares back at me.

“Fine, have it your way,” I say and I grab his ring finger, but I do so slow enough to allow him to reconsider.

He does, because before I can snap the finger he says, “Wait! Fine. Banks. It was Banks, but you didn’t hear it from me.”

“Banks?” I ask, “Is that a name, or what?

“Yes,” he says, “Banks.”

I turn my head to look over my shoulder at Gerard, “that name mean anything to you?”

To my surprise, he nods. Gerard looks frightened. I have no idea who this Banks person is, but Gerard looks completely comprehensive of our situation now.

I see some sort of epiphany in his eyes, like someone just told him the secret of the universe. I can’t help but wonder what he hasn’t told me. Whoever the hell this Banks guy is, Gerard knows, and he’s terrified of it. He looks more scared knowing who’s behind this all then he did not knowing. Gerard must have taken some Claritin because he most certainly can see clearly now.

“Banks,” I repeat, and señor balaclava wriggles underneath me, but I don’t know where he intends to go with a broken knee cap. I suppose he could hop on one foot, but he’s not going to get very far. Maybe crawl, but that would put a strain on his fingers.

“Alright then,” I say, hearing police sirens coming in our general direction. “Now unless you want a broken arm as well, you’re going to tell the police everything you know. Got it?”

Señor balaclava says nothing, so I grab his hand and hold is finger dangerously again until his eyes widen again in panic.

“Fine!” he says urgently.

I smack him on the face dotingly, “good boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment maybe?


	34. And At Last I See the Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And it's like the fog has lifted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHY THE FUCK IS THIS SO POPULAR? Guys, I’m a loser. Justifiable loser. Complete nerd, and maniac. I cried at a Plain White T’s concert when Tom was singing Hey There Delilah. I’ve seen Lord of the Rings more times than Larry King has been around the sun. I have more posters in my room than I have friends. I have clinically diagnosed social anxiety, and my role model is motherfucking Buffy Summers and/or Toph Beifong. Why on earth would you care about anything I write? I love you all more than the world though, but not as much as Patrick Stump. I really really love that man, so you shouldn’t be offended.

The cops take señor balaclava away and tell us to come down to the station as well, but we usher them off by saying that we’ll be there soon. I just really need to talk to Gerard.

“Alright so who is Banks?”

Gerard looks uncomfortable and nervous, and starts twiddling with his hair.

“He’s, um, the corporate businessmen who I interned for before I got my first comic published.”

“And?”

“I, um, sort of walked in on him having an affair once,” Gerard says.

“That guy?” I say, not even hiding how scandalized I am. I remember when he told me about him though.

“That’s um... that’s not all,” Gerard says, and he scrunches his nose like he’s guilty of something.

“What else?”

“I sort of discovered that he was embezzling money. There may have been some extortion involved. And fraudulence. The thing was that no one ever testified against him! No one ever called him out on it, so I figured no one would notice if I based a character off of him. I honestly didn’t think it would ever come back to bite me!”

“Wait, so you’re telling me, that you interned for a guy who was extorting and embezzling money, as well as cheating on his wife?” Gerard nods, so I continue, “And you used that information to base a character off of him in your comic book?”

“Pretty much,” Gerard says.

“Is there any more to this story?”

“Uh, kind of.”

I groan, “Oh great, spill it Way.”

“Frank... I did something really bad. Like really really bad. Really really really really-“

“I got it. What did you do?” I ask him anxiously.

“Well I, uh, I needed a startup. For the comic. Money, you know?”

“Gerard! Did you blackmail him?” I ask.

“I may have sort of done that, yes,” Gerard says.

“Gerard!”

He panics and covers his face, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I just, I needed the money, and I had all this dirt on him, I just didn’t know what to do!”

“So that’s it right? That’s where this story ends?”

“Yeah, I think that’s about it. I mean, no one knew what he was doing! No one knew, so if people found out... but he’s rich. Majorly rich, it wasn’t that big of a deal and he never spoke to me again after I left!”

“Okay, so if that’s all that happened, why does he want you dead?”

“I told you that I based the villain off my boss?” Gerard says, “Well it’s not exactly vague. It’s sort of in your face. Not only does the character look like him, but he acts like him. How do you think the world would react if they found out that that villain is a real person? It could destroy his reputation. He’s not exactly a private guy, he’s in the news a lot, he’s this huge businessman! It would destroy his relationship, and his job and everything else.”

“Wait hold on. Relationship, career, and he’d go to jail? Gerard, he’s been trying to destroy everything you were threatening to take away from him!” I say and finally it all fits. “He was going to kill you so you’d stop writing about him, but when it became clear that that wasn’t going to work he decided to make you understand what you were doing! Show you what it’s like on the receiving end. He’s a sadist alright, and he was trying to give you what you were menacing over his head, only ten times worse. You were going to ruin his relationship with his wife, so he tried to have me killed. You were going to ruin his career so he was trying to get your dream job with this comic abolished. You were going to send him to jail for fraud, so he was going to do that to someone you loved.”

“Evil genius,” Gerard mumbles shaking his head, and looking almost impressed. “Okay that’s pretty disturbed, but you’ve got to admit that’s damn clever.”

My eyes fall and as much as I like Gerard, I can’t help but think how stupid it was for him to do all that. That was a really dumb thing to do. He never would’ve intended for anybody to figure it out, but he was basically giving that guy more than enough reason to try and hurt him. Doesn’t mean I like him any less, it was just really stupid.

“It was like a tribute to how I got my start!” Gerard tries to defend himself when he sees my face, “I based this character off of Banks, and then I put the symbolism in the books and I never thought he’d notice! I never thought he’d _read_ them. I just wanted to be able to look back on it and see the irony in the work. It was just representational! I swear. It’s not like its inaccessible information either! Anyone with logic could have worked out that Banks is a horrible person, and the evidence is in the numbers, it’s all there! I just... oh god you think I’m an idiot. You hate me don’t you? You hate me, I just know it!”

“No Gerard. I don’t hate you. I’m not going to deny the fact that you were incredibly stupid when you did that, but I don’t hate you.”

“I’m so sorry. Shit, I feel awful, about it. I, uh, that’s sort of thing that I didn’t tell you,” Gerard admits.

“You said there were two things. Two things that were related,” I point out.

“Shit, you were paying attention when I said that? Fuck, Frank don’t think badly of me when I tell you this,” he asks.

“I tried to kill you, I think we’re pretty much even.”

Gerard frowns then takes in a few huffs of air and says, “well, um, see Banks, he is definitely well connected. Through some means, he pretty much works with everyone in the city. Like other businessman, financial firms, politicians, everyone. Just everyone. He’s an entrepreneur kind of, and everyone just knows him.”

“You’ve lost me,” I tell him.

“Okay, well the thing is that I didn’t have any, well _reputation_ , when I was looking to start a comic. Like I said, this guy knows everyone so I had him make a few connections which dragged a man called Derek Fischer into things. I needed a publisher, Banks needed me to keep quiet and Fischer needed to keep things quiet as well because he’s an associate in the whole embezzling scheme.”

“You blackmailed your editor?” I ask trying to wrap my head around this. Gerard blackmailed someone? It doesn’t seem possible! He’s such a sweet, innocent guy. It just doesn’t compute that he could do that. I guess we all do bad things for money like he said a while back, but I never would have pegged Gerard as a blackmailer. At least what he did wasn’t nearly as bad as what I used to, but it’s never come back to bite me and that’s the difference. When I was doing things illegally I had the sense to stay anonymous which has kept me safe. Gerard’s crime is out in the open.

Gerard corrects me, “Ultimately no. Banks blackmailed him for me, but that’s one of the reasons why I have such a cozy job, I guess. But I paid Banks back! Like actually, paid him back a year ago, with interest even. He shouldn’t still be mad about that, but I guess basing a comic book villain after him wasn’t so good an idea.”

“Yeah, but even then, isn’t it a little harsh to inevitably try to get you to _die_?”

“He’s a go big or go home kind of a guy. Which is why he decided to steal millions of dollars instead of just thousands. He’s also a sociopath. It’s not just him who has things to lose. It’s everyone who works for him. Probably dozens of people could end up in prison or paying fines,” Gerard explains.

“Oh god, Gerard!”

“It’s alright, you can call me an idiot.”

“You’re an idiot,” I say and he nods bowing his head down shamefully.

I walk over to him and put my hand on his shoulder, “but you’re an idiot I love.”

Gerard smiles, but it fades quickly and I realize he’s _still_ not done.

“What now?”

He winces when I ask him, and bites his lip, “this is the last thing, I swear. It’s absolutely the last piece of the story, but you’re not going to like it.”

“I didn’t like any of the other stuff you’ve said so I wasn’t really expecting to like whatever this is,” I tell him honestly.

“Well this isn’t my fault or anything. This is just a development that is happening that kind of explains the timing of all this. I guess I understand why he’s trying to get rid of some loose ends at the moment, including me. It’s going to be nearly impossible to get to him. He’s almost indestructible at this point. Lawyers so good they could convince a jury that Mars belongs to a Polar Bear. I don’t think anyone will be able to get to him. Because, Frank, the thing is that Banks is... he’s sort of running for U.S. senate in 2016.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Freaking out aside, I want to tell you all that I’ve decided to make this story longer. There was originally only supposed to be about four chapters left, but I just love writing this so much, I’m making it longer. I’ve worked out where we’re going on this new tangent and it’s gonna add at least a dozen more chapters then originally planned.


	35. Spero che vi divertiate quando si traducono questo vi figlio di puttana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The statistical probability that someone is going to be murdered sometime in the near future.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me though. A senator? A fucking senator! If that bitch becomes a senator then I will personally buy the first one way ticket to Finland.”

“Finland? Couldn’t you pick somewhere more romantic?” Gerard asks.

“I suppose that Paris isn’t entirely out of the question, but I’m going to need to brush up on my French. The only French I know is ‘soufflez-moi, vous putain de poissons bâton’, and trust me, I don’t think that’s going to come in handy very often.”

“How’s your Italian?” Gerard asks.

I shrug, “Meglio allora il mio francese, ma a volte mi carciofo miei verbi e sostantivi.”

“Yeah, you’ll want to work on that.”

I roll my eyes, “But we’re not moving to Italy, we’re staying here, and we’re going to kick this guy’s fucking butt at his own game.”

Gerard frowns, but nods, “I need a drink.”

I don’t protest to his words and follow behind him, away from the police station which I hate even more than I did the other day. They have no way to get to Banks apparently because it’s just the word of a criminal and it would ‘look bad for the department’ if they were to ‘bother a man of such status’ with something so minimal as a ‘failed and measly assassination plot.’

“You know that this ain’t over though,” I ask Gerard as we walk along the sidewalk.

He frowns, “I know, but I wish it was. I wish we could just be together and not have to worry about things like the inevitability of one or both of us getting shot.”

“Stop being so pessimistic. Neither of us is going to get shot,” I say.

Gerard looks at me unconvinced, but he grabs my hand and folds his fingers into mine. I’ve never held anyone’s hand in public before. His fingers are a little sweaty when they mix with mine and I’m pretty sure I’m shaking a little bit from the prolonged contact, but it’s nice. It’s a good feeling. I feel like we’re making a public declaration of some sort. He doesn’t belong to me, that’s medieval bullshit, and I don’t like that term in the slightest, but he is at least off the market. I don’t belong to Gerard either, but I do belong _with_ him.

I only realize that I’m staring at him when he points it out.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I don’t know,” I say and look down at the pavement in front of me, feeling overly modest all of a sudden. “I’ve just never felt so... I don’t know, lucky?

“Lucky? Frank, there’s a madmen who’s trying to kill us, who has unlimited resources and the cops are vehemently unsympathetic in the struggle of having him incarcerated, and you think that meet the requirements of ‘luck’?”

“Well Gerard, I’ve never had a boyfriend who I cared about before. Never really had a boyfriend at all actually.”

“Ever?” he asks, and he gives me an even more skeptical look.

“Not really. Never cared about having one, and it was never more than just a label for convenience. Easier than saying ‘unclothed acquaintance’ and less obscene than saying ‘fuck buddy.’”

Gerard makes a face at that, and I don’t know how to feel about it. I might have said something out of bounds or inconsiderate just now. It’s not like I was trying to allude the fact that I’ve had sex with more people than him, for god’s sake! I just don’t know how to behave, under any circumstance really, but especially with someone as foreign as my literal boyfriend. That word and myself have never been introduced to each other.

It’s honestly like I’m diving headfirst into learning astrophysics. The whole idea of having a boyfriend is alien. Not unwanted, but strange. I don’t understand it, and it drives me crazy to be near him, but I fucking love it. I know less about this then I could ever possibly have imagined. I didn’t know how little I knew about relationships until I was actually in one.

“What must you think of me? A hopeless, blackmailing, virgin?”

“That last one’s not so true. And neither is the first one. And the middle one is in the past. All of what you just said is untrue, essentially.”

“You know what I mean,” Gerard says with a shrug.

“Actually I really don’t. To tell you the truth Gerard, you’re one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met,” I tell him. I don’t get how he could not see that, it’s pretty obvious that he’s remarkable. Self-deprecation is the mark of humanity though I guess.

“You know that a lot of the things you say make no sense,” Gerard tells me.

“I’m not surprised by that observation.”

“I like that about you. Keeps a person thinking.”

“And I like your personality, as well as your face.”

“See, that! That makes no sense,” Gerard says.

“Well how about I buy you a mirror, so you could see for youself. You’d be doing yourself a favor. That’s one of the things that makes me so lucky. I get to see your face whenever. You don’t as much, which sucks.”

“Fuck off,” Gerard says disapprovingly.

“Soufflez-moi,” I respond playfully.

“Oh I intend to,” Gerard answers, “later though.”

I hadn’t been paying any attention to where we were going and find myself a little surprised to be walking into a small bar a minute later that already looks crowded. I really should pay more attention to where I’m walking or one of these days I’m going to end up walking into a Hooters which sounds utterly terrifying.

“Frank, tell me honestly, do you think I’m actually going to live?” Gerard asks me.

That’s a heavy question to throw at someone in a bar. I mean it could’ve been worse, he could’ve asked me to calculate the coefficients of linear expansion, but at least there’s a tangible answer to math problems. There isn’t anything I can possibly tell him that will be either true or unbiased. Obviously, I want to believe he’s going to live, but who am I to give him an estimation of the likelihood of that prospect?

“I don’t know,” I tell him honestly.

“Give me your best guess. You know more about this then I do.”

“I could be completely wrong, Gerard. I don’t want to worry you any more then you already are-“

He interrupts me, “I think it’s too late for that.”

“God, Gerard! I don’t know. I want to know! I want to tell you with absolute certainty that everything’s going to be okay, and I want to tell you that this is all just a bad dream that we’re going to wake up from, but I don’t know. I have no fucking idea if either of is going to live long enough to see this through. I really hope so, because I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how great you are to be around, but I just _don’t know_.”

“Please, though. Best guess?”

I sigh, and try to think of something to tell him that will make him feel a little better, but I don’t want to lie to him. I wish there was a lever I could pull to just make all this shit go away. I wish I could make everything okay for him, and give him everything he needs to be safe. Clear the skies, and offer him the insurance that he’ll be fine, but I just don’t have that power. I really would give up everything for him to make this better. Anything and everything. I’d give him the world if he asked me for it, but I don’t have the power to do such a thing.

“You deserve to live, Gerard. I’m not an overly religious man, but I assure you that if there’s anyone looking down on you, they can see that. I don’t have the answers you want, and if I did, I would do anything to morph them in your favor, but I do know that you are worth so much more than I could ever possibly vocalize.”

He looks down and doesn’t say anything, so I scramble for something else to say. I just don’t know how to comfort him in anyway.

“It’s going to take a little while to get another assassin, Gerard,” I tell him, “we have a little time, and that’s a guarantee, but somewhere in me, I believe that we’ll be okay. I will do absolutely anything to protect you. Anything. And that’s another guarantee.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanks for being so nice though guys.


	36. The Inevitability of Getting Shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Important character introduction.

“I hate not knowing what comes next,” Gerard says quietly.

“How do you mean?”

“I just hate that there’s no way to predict what’s actually going to happen in the end. For all I know I’m going to die tomorrow and that’s just an utterly terrifying thought. I don’t want to be dead. No one does. I mean, it’s a terrifying thought. We don’t know what there is after life, if anything, but it just feels like it’s going to be soon. I don’t want it to be soon. If I’m going to be honest with myself I want to wake up and know that I’m not going to die. It’s never really a certainty, no matter what precautions you take, but of the people in this room, I’m the most likely to die. We both are,” Gerard says.

“You’re so negative,” I tell him trying to be lively, but I don’t really know how. It’s grim. Everything is just really grim, and dismal. It kind of feels like the night before war or something. You don’t really know what tomorrow is going to bring, but it’s likely going to be bloody.

I feel like it’s the end of days, but it’s only me, and Gerard who are on the brink of life. The apocalypse is literally on our heels, but only for Gerard and myself. There’s no way to express the guttural fear in my stomach. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt so helpless in my life. It just feels like my life is destitute and crumbling dramatically to my feet. I don’t know what this is all leading up to, but I feel like I’m going to lose everything. I don’t want to lose everything. I want to be alive, really. I just don’t want to be dead, because that’s so final. I’m not ready for the curtains to close, I’ve only just met my scene changer and I need to hang onto him.

In a lot of ways I feel like my life is only just beginning and that’s what makes it so scary to think that it’ll end soon. No one wants to die. Not even people who think they want to die. Because no matter who you are or what you think, death is frightening. It’s daunting and ever ascending, which only makes it that much more absolute.

There’s no such thing as fearless and I’m afraid of death. Maybe I wasn’t a year ago, but I am now. A year ago my life wasn’t in jeopardy though. Isn’t it funny how we only see things clearly when we’re about to lose them? We only understand the gravity of the things around us when we’re about to lose them, or have already lost them.

When I was drowning, I understood the importance of just about everything around me. It’s a caustic thing to assess, but a near death experience was one of the most educational things for me to ever go through, because it made me understand why I have to cherish what I have. I have to cherish every breath, and every day of life, because I only have so many days.

I want an infinite number of days with Gerard, but all odds are against me. I’ve pissed off people of a high caliber, and there’s no turning back now. The only way I’ll ever be safe now is if Banks is rotting in a prison cell or six feet under, but that’s almost impossible to imagine now. The police can’t afford to arrest him, on the off chance that they don’t have anything resolute to hold against him which means that they’re branding Gerard and I as dead, as well as Mikey.

We’ve been left off for dead, marked by the reaper, and there’s nothing the police are willing to do to stop it, which means the only person with skill and motivation to do anything about it is... me. I don’t want to be the last resort.

It’s one thing to kill a person because someone hired me to, but it’s another to actually be put in a place where there’s no way out, but to kill a person for my own gain. The more and more I think about it the more it sinks in that I’m going to have to kill Banks. I don’t want to. When I killed people, I killed people I didn’t know, people who couldn’t influence my life. I’ve never killed someone who could be traced back to myself, and I really don’t want to. I don’t want to kill anyone. I really don’t. It’s not that I’m afraid of being caught, because I’d probably deserve it, but it’s such a different thing to kill someone with actual motive.

When I used to kill people, I didn’t know them. It actually felt like I was just the means, like a weapon, because it never really felt like I was the murderer. It stings the same way of course. It still feels like I’m a bad person and that I’m a murderer, but it wasn’t the same feeling exactly.

If I were to kill Banks that would make me the shot caller. That’s a whole different place to be. Assassins, while we are killers, we’re just the executioner. When you’re an assassin, the death will be carried out no matter what you do. You’re just the means. If a person hires an assassin they will do anything to get their target dead, so it’s a different feeling in their shoes then the assassins. I am a bad person for killing someone, but the client is worse, because they are ultimately the one behind the death.

The assassin is just the gun. Worthless without ammunition. A gun does nothing without intent. The person who hires the assassin, they’re the bullet. I may be the person who pulls the trigger, but it’s the bullet that kills. The bullet is put there by a third party and at the end of the day, that person is most at fault.

I know I’m a bad person, but I still believe it to be true that my clients are worse. It’s never _my_ aspiration that buries a person, which means that I’m not as much to blame when a person is killed as the one who called the shot.

I can’t be the shot caller. As funny as it is, I _can’t_ kill Banks. I can kill a person I’ve never met and know nothing about, but I can’t kill a man trying to kill me. My soul is already damned to hell, but if I were to make the decision to kill Banks then I’d lose myself along with it. An assassin will go to hell, but a person who hires an assassin goes to a special type of hell. The hell reserved for child molesters and people who talk at the theater.

“You’ve been looking off into the distance contemplatively for like ten minutes. You okay?” Gerard asks.

I blink a few times and find myself still in the bar standing next to Gerard.

“How childish is it to say that I’m afraid to die? I can’t send the thought away that I’m not ready for it. I haven’t had enough time, Gerard. I haven’t had enough time to see shit! I haven’t had enough time to get to know you. Or really, myself. I don’t even know who I am.”

He looks down and frowns at his shoes for a long moment without a word. It’s all so awful right now. Being with him should make me feel so much better, but I can’t help being afraid of the fact that I won’t be able to be near him, because he’ll be dead.

“I know what you mean, Frankie. I’m not happy about it, and I’ll never really be ready, but if I have the opportunity to save you in exchange for my own life, I need you to know that I’ll take that chance.”

“I don’t want you to,” I tell him.

“But it’s not your decision to make, is it? It’s my own decision, and I will not let you die for me or because of me.

“You’re so fucking stubborn,” I say and the recalcitrant look in his eyes proves my point. I’m starting to get annoyed with how resilient he is. It’s really sexy, I’m not going to lie, but it digs under my skin.

“You love me,” Gerard says with a wink, and it feels abnormal in this tense atmosphere, but it’s still nice to not take things with a little bit of humor.

I mean, we have at least a day of almost guaranteed life I’d guess, so there really doesn’t seem to be a point to spend it so restlessly.

I roll my eyes at him and say, “I do, but I don’t know why.”

He beams at me widely, and the fear almost seems to wash away. Gerard’s smile is probably the cure to the common cold or something. It’s at least a very effective antidepressant.

“Boys,” an unfamiliar voice says from behind me and I turn to see who it belongs to.

I think I now understand what it’s like to have a heart attack.

He looks just like Gerard drew him. Strong jaw, dark hair, light complexioned skin that looks trapped against the bones in his face, stretching sharply over a set of firm cheekbones. His eyes are as they were in my dream. Dark, and inflamed, almost carmine red. His whole appearance is to be expected. Callous and heartless.

He is a tall and strapping man, actually. Almost statuesque and he gives the appearance of strength with only his stance. Looking at him you can truly see power radiating off of him. He’s a silver fox, but an evil one at that.

So this is Banks. The faceless enemy. The man who wants everyone I love dead.

“I’m going to ask you two to please follow me,” Banks says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m just curious, what is it that is so “good” about my writing so that I can keep that in mind and do more of it in the future?


	37. Expect the Inevitable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Probably the most fun I've had writing a chapter in this whole story.

“No thanks I’m good,” I say.

“It wasn’t a suggestion,” Banks replies. Somehow I knew he was going to say that.

“Yeah, but we’re fine where we are sir, have a nice day,” Gerard stutters.

Banks looks from me to Gerard maintaining a cool composer and I envy his skill to look so relaxed. I mean, he’s probably here to put a bullet in both of our brains, but he just looks so chill about the whole thing. Even I don’t have that much self-control, but then again I’m human, unlike this man.

He won’t be the one to kill us though, that’s not how men like him work. No reason for him to pull the trigger when there are other people to do it. Physical evidence is one of the biggest issues with the world nowadays, because it is so simply indisputable. There’s not much you can do to deny it if your DNA is found on a dead guy, and Banks isn’t stupid enough to take that chance. That’s what middlemen like myself are for.

The thing about being placed at a crime scene is that you can’t deny it. If the proof is there, then there’s no lying your way out of it. Alibis can be bought and often are, but if your fingerprints or hair or anything else is there, then it’s too bad for you.

I just think it’s a little ironic that Banks probably has no idea who or what I am. This man hired me to kill Gerard, but I just ended up falling in love with him. Part of me almost wants to thank him for that, but mostly I just want to give him a black eye.

“And what will happen if we refuse to follow you?” I ask him. I know how to play this game. We’ve got no reason to go anywhere with him unless he’s got a little incentive for us. It’s not the good kind of incentive though, it’s the life or death kind, which is always the bad type. Anything life or death really is pretty upsetting.

“I think you’ll find that you want to do what I command,” Banks says and then smoothly hands Gerard a small envelope, that can’t have anything good inside of it.

Gerard’s hands are shaking like a bitch. His fingers are practically vibrating as he breaks the seal on the envelope and peers inside. His face is already a mask of terror so I see no difference in it after he looks at the contents, but the fact that his face does stay the same is just as disconcerting.

“Come on Frank, let’s go,” Gerard says, and he grabs my hand for support. I dislike the way he looks so petrified right now.

“Sure, okay,” I say and I hate that I’m playing all my cards. Banks has known me for about twenty five seconds and he’s seen my entire hand already. My weak spot is Gerard and he knew that already, but I’m not doing myself any favors by proving it. I’ll be damned if I leave Gerard alone with this guy though.

Gerard hands me the envelope as we follow behind Banks who walks elegantly out of the bar. I actually kind of admire the way his presence emanates grace and poise. He could be miss congeniality because he’s just so mellifluous.

Gerard _worked_ for this guy which is a little freaky. He’s so nonchalant about the fact that he’s leading a former employee and said former employee’s boyfriend to their foreseeable demise, and I’m in no way serene about the situation, but I do wish I had such resolve.

He guides us out onto the street where a pristine black car is waiting by the curb, and I just know it’s going to drive me to a horrible place, but it is at least a damn sexy car. You could feed an entire third world country with the amount Banks paid for that car and have enough left over for a trip to Barbados.

There’s a driver who I can see from the window but I can’t see him clearly enough to describe his features. I have to wonder if he knows that he’s transporting us to our execution. I have no doubt about that though. This isn’t just a little stroll for kicks, this is a funeral procession of which I’ve already had enough of for a lifetime. You should never even have a funeral procession for yourself and be alive to see it.

“Death Cab for Cutie,” I whisper as the door is opened for us.

“Is now the time for jokes?” Gerard asks as he’s ushered in by Banks.

I make cold eye contact with Banks whose expression is nothing more than pleasant and I have to wonder how many ants this guys killed as a child. He probably had a magnifying glass collection.

I climb into the car and situate myself next to Gerard who’s still trembling like his own personal earthquake.

“Now is the best time for jokes,” I answer him and he takes an unsteady breath. He grabs my hand and his hold is so tight that it hurts. I allow him to abuse my hand though because I understand the fear. Gerard’s no idiot, he knows as well as I do that this has a bad ending no matter what.

I remember the envelope still in my grip, and I have a difficult time trying to get it open before Banks enters and sits in front of us. It’s one of those cars that has seats facing each other like a limo, only smaller. There’s also a small little nook in the seat next to Banks that’s quite possibly got a mini-refrigerator of some sort. I would be impressed by his wealth if he weren’t using it to institute my untimely death.

I only have one hand to get the papers out of the envelope, because of Gerard’s grip, but my heart stutters a bit at what’s inside. Sadly, it’s not a note telling me that everything has been a prank and this is all some TV show, because what’s actually inside is a photo which is pretty self-explanatory. It’s Mikey from the scope of a sniper gun. He’s just in his apartment with the window open, and he probably doesn’t even know he’s being watched, but the message is clear. We go with Banks or he dies.

“So Gerard, long time no see,” Banks says cordially. It makes my spine tingle.

“Mhm,” Gerard says in response.

“How’s life treating you then?” Banks asks.

“How about we cut the shit, and you tell us how much longer we have to live, okay? I’ve had enough of the patronizing,” I say.

“Now Frank, don’t you think you could be a bit more polite?” Banks asks. I have to question whether he knows my name because Gerard said it or whether he actually knows who I am. I hope it’s not the second option because I’m not sure what he’d turn up and if he’d notice that I haven’t actually had a stable job in my entire life. I guess I have one now that’s being saved for me in case I don’t die, but that’s looking more and more distant by the hour.

“You know, I’ve never been the most polite, and it’s never bothered me before so I don’t see why it should bother me now.”

He smiles wickedly and my blood curdles. I really do not like this guy, and he’s kind of terrifying. I don’t even blame Gerard for blackmailing him, I’d give him hell too.

“Please don’t kill Frank,” Gerard whispers to Banks, barely loud enough to be audible.

It pinches me painfully to hear those words in more ways than one. For one thing I don’t want Gerard to be making bargains for my life, and another thing is that I don’t like seeing him so hopeless like he’s already given up. I’m not stupid, I can’t do anything to save Mikey right this instant, but there’s still time. We might not die. We’ve both escaped death, there’s no reason we can’t do it again. The number of times it’s happened just makes me believe that someone is looking out for us, may it be a supernatural force or something completely organic, it just inclines me to think that we have at least somebody on our side.

“I don’t want you negotiating for me, Gerard. I’m perfectly capable of doing that myself, but I won’t.”

“Please, Frank, I don’t want you to die with me. I really don’t, and I know you want to look after your pride, but I’m just not in a position to care about that. I don’t want you dead.”

“ _I’m_ not going to kill anyone,” Banks says, but I know he just means that he won’t do it personally.

“No, you’re going to hide behind you’re little puppets and have them do it for you. You’re a coward! You can’t get your hands dirty because you’re afraid.”

“Is that so?” Banks asks with a snide grin, “and what else do you think of me?”

“That you’re far too power-hungry and it blinds you to morality. What makes you think you have the right to pass judgment on other people lives? I say nothing of my own worth, but how does it feel knowing that you’re destroying the life of someone who is of so much more value than you? You are a monster. A savage, calamitous monster. No one has the right to trade any life for another, and it lucidly shows what type of a character you are to think you have that power. Your wealth is you’re only tool and you use it to play god. That makes you so far beyond evil that both heaven and hell look upon you with unreserved revulsion. You don’t even belong in hell, you feculent ingrate! You belong in Purgatory with all the monsters that still don’t hold a flame to your maleficent insignificance.”

Banks looks at me with vulturine eyes like slits. His stance is strong and sharp, having changed from cool and relaxed to this more natural predatory persona.

I continue insulting him the best that I can with the confidence I didn’t know I possessed, “You’re an odious, rapacious scumbag who I can do nothing but look down upon. In death I still come up a winner and you a dud, because I at least do not stoop as low as the incendiary _bitch_ that you are.”

Banks looks at me ravenously for a few seconds before leaning back in his seat and smiling. I don’t like the look on him. It makes me shiver.

“Quite the novelist you’ve picked up for yourself, Gerard,” Banks says.

I smile back at him and chide, “journalist actually.”

“Yes, I know. I read your article Mr. Iero.”

“Don’t call me that. If you’re to call me anything at all, I’d prefer your majesty,” I say, and Gerard kicks me warningly. I know I shouldn’t be trying my hardest to piss him off, but it’s so fun. I’m only telling him what he already knows. There’s no way to live with that weight and not think about it, I know from experience.

“Then I will not address you at all,” Banks says.

“Too late,” I point out.

The windows are darkened so I can’t see what’s outside, but the car comes to a standstill and my hand almost breaks with how hard Gerard’s holding it.

Banks is the first one out, and I see Gerard reach for the door on the other side, but when he pulls the handle it doesn’t give. The other side of the door is locked so the only way out is to walk past Banks.

“Don’t worry Gerard everything’s going to be okay. I’ll keep you safe,” I tell him but it’s a groundless statement. I have no way of actually keeping him alive right now, but I wish I did. I kiss his cheek before stepping out of the car and making eye contact with Banks again. Our height difference seems to be nonexistent when I look at him because of the intensity that backs my eyes.

I want to kill this man so much. I want to stab him, or strangle him like he did to me in my dream. I want to watch the life escape him, and I wouldn’t feel any remorse. I would enjoy it actually, seeing his lifeless body fall limp like a rag.

If I don’t get the chance to make him pay then I am going to haunt his ass so fucking ruthlessly that the Winchester’s won’t even be able to stop me.

Gerard is more than reluctant to come out of the car and it takes him about a minute to get his legs to stop shaking enough for his feet to stand on them. I don’t even look to see where we are until he’s standing by my side.

It’s a dumpy motel. Pay by the hour probably. I’d also bet that we’re not in a good part of town. I know New York well enough to say with certainty that this isn’t the Bronx, but it ain’t Brooklyn either.

“Is this the part where you drug us and make it look like a murder-suicide?”

Banks says nothing, but he winks and then gestures for us to walk forward. I allow myself to pull Gerard and myself to a slow lag behind Banks, which puts him in front of us. As soon as we enter the motel my stomach churns. It smell old and derelict like it’s appearance would suggest, and it’s the last place that I’d want to be found dead, but we don’t always get to choose that location. I wish it were classier though. The plaza would be nice.

The place doesn’t have many rooms and all the keys to each of them are on a board behind the desk which would make any of them easy to break into if you put your mind to it. I quickly evaluate how many keys are missing and groan because there’s only five checked out rooms out of about forty.

There’s a woman reading a magazine behind the front desk looking very uninterested in anything and she doesn’t even look up when we enter. My heart beats faster than I could have ever anticipated and I realize that I’ve literally got nothing to lose. People never realize how risky it is to put a person in a situation where they’ve got nothing to lose, but that’s when you see the scariest shit happen.

It’s now or never, I guess, so I let go of Gerard’s hand and I step on my shoelace intentionally. This results in a very theatrical and demeaning fall flat onto my face.

Banks only pauses to look at me for a moment before he continues to walk, but my plan worked and the woman looks down at me from her place behind the rat-eaten desk.

“Call the police,” I whisper to her, quiet enough that I’m sure Banks didn’t hear me. I don’t have time to check if she heard me or not before I haul myself back up and find my place a half step behind Banks.

Gerard’s hand replaces itself in my own and I give it a small squeeze to hopefully reassure him. We walk all the way to the other end of the motel and I think back to the board with the keys and realize that ours is nowhere near the other four rooms in use, by design most likely.

“After you, gentleman,” Banks says and he holds out the door to room 36 for us. The numbers are painted onto the green door with chipping white paint so that it looks more like 35. I have no desire to see what a hooker motel room looks like, but I guess I don’t have a choice. As soon as we enter the room the door shuts behind us.

Banks did not enter the room like I thought he would, and I turn to look at the door and see a completely different man altogether. He’s dark-skinned and looks bored. There’s a heavy 12mm pistol in his hand that I do not want to be pointed anywhere near my head, but that is where he’s aiming it.

“Alright boys, I’m going to explain to you how this is going to work,” the man says with a lighter voice then I’d expected.

I look around the room quickly as he explains that Gerard is going to shoot me and then himself.

The window is closed but it looks dirty and gross, and the curtains aren’t pulled together properly so that there’s still a glistening of natural light flooding into the dim room. The bed is grotty and I don’t even want to think about how many people have used it for acts that were not intended to include sleep.

The man explains that he’s going to ‘help’ Gerard pull the trigger on me, and the way he won’t allow Gerard to handle the gun without supervision, but I don’t think he understand that Gerard wouldn’t be able to shoot him if he tried. Gerard isn’t capable of shooting me either, but he wouldn’t shoot another person to save his own life. This man has nothing to worry about from Gerard. I’m a different story though.

I’m not sure what exactly he’ll use, but I know that ‘help’ means drugs. Probably a rape drug, because it needs to be something that won’t be detected in the bloodstream. I’m not too fond of the whole scenario.

The thing that this man doesn’t know is that he’s got a skilled assassin in the room. He’s holding the gun so carelessly that I could grab it so easily if he would just stop swinging it around like that. He talks with his hands just like Gerard does, but not in an adorable way like Gerard, so there’s really no way for me to get it from him without him having time to shoot me.

As soon as he’s done explaining I breathe out loudly to try to clear my head. I am not going to die here. This is not where I want to die, and certainly not so lazily by this man.

“Kiss me,” I mouth to Gerard when the guy walks over to the broken looking table to grab whatever supplies he needs.

“What?” Gerard mouths back obviously wondering why I’d think of making out at a time like this.

“Just do it,” I respond.

Gerard looks petrified but he doesn’t argue. He actually goes for it way more than I’d predicted. He grabs me and pulls me tightly into his embrace then kisses me furiously. Gerard’s hold is needy and mine probably is too, but I forget to care. It’s wet and heated, but that makes it all the more amazing. I almost forget where I am for a long moment. Almost.

The gun points into my back and I tense up which makes the kiss stop.

This is my only chance. The gun is motionless and firm as it’s pressed into my back with such intent so I take a deep breath and make my move. If I fail then I’d have died anyway.

I reach around my back and spin in place. Then I make a grab for the gun and feel it in my clasp. It’s heavy and familiar like an old friend, but I don’t spend too much time dwelling on it so I handle it like a hot potato.

When the man tries to take it back from me, I push him away. I can’t let him have it because that will mean that I’ll definitely die, and I don’t have the heart to let that happen at the moment. I’m scared out of my mind and I see a dumb yet effective way out.

This is a trashy hotel. The beds are the cheapest that money can buy, so is the TV, the carpet, the wallpaper. Everything is dirt cheap which means that the windows shouldn’t be shatter proof. I dodge the man’s prying hands and I toss the gun as hard and fast as I can at the window.

The weapon leaves my hand, but not before going off.

I hear the shattering of glass and I see the man looking at me with fury, but then I’m falling. I don’t know what’s just happened. All I know is that a bullet has left the barrel of that gun and I have a sneaking suspicion as to where it went.

The feeling is like a hammer. My body starts burning like some part of it has just been hit hard with a mallet, but all my senses are jumbling up together so that I don’t even know where I’ve been hit.

I know that I’ve been shot, and I guess it’s my fault but I forget about that when the back of my head slams hard against the floor.

I hear footsteps, wheezing, trampling, pounding, screaming, heaving, but all I see is a blur.

This pain is a hard thing to quantify. It’s all at once and it’s unbearable. Never have I been in so much discomfort before.

I see a blurred image of the man running out of the hotel door, and Gerard looking down at me like I’m a child in a crib or something. I look at my hand and cringe a little when all I see is blood. Lots and lots of blood. It’s a deep red, and there’s way too much of it to be safe.

“Frank? Frank!” I hear Gerard screaming my name. I hear his pleas, and the desperation, but my eyes are already glossing over, and my brain waves are fleeting.

I feel like a burning candle next to an open window. The wind is blowing in yet the flame of the candle still persists, still clings to life, but it’s only a matter of time before it extinguishes. I’m the candle and my brain is the flame, with the air blowing in and all I can do is blink slackly, trying to find strength to keep burning, but it’s too hard.

I don’t want to be awake right now. I want to go to sleep and wake up somewhere else. Somewhere that’s not here, where my body isn’t pounding furiously with pain. I feel the blood flowing to the spot where I’ve been shot, but I don’t actually know where that is. I haven’t a clue, because it feels like it’s everywhere and nowhere all at once.

“Frank? Stay with me, yeah? Stay awake please,” he asks, or begs. I can’t actually tell because it sounds faint. I can’t hear him over the waterfall of blood pumping in my ears.

I’m also having a hard time remembering my name, and what’s happening. It feels like this is all I am, or all I’ve ever been. Just this searing hot painful mass of endlessness. I can’t find it in me to rationalize what’s happening. All I can think of is hurt. Hurt and tiredness pounding into my head without interruption.

“Gerard I...” my voice mumbles. I have a hard time believing that that was my voice because I don’t recall sending a message to my vocal chords, but I recognize it as my own.

“Frankie, stay awake. It’s going to be okay, okay?”

“...So tired,” I whisper.

“Just please don’t sleep. Frank? Do not fucking die, you can’t die. I will never forgive you if you die right now.”

“Please,” I ask, but I don’t know why I ask him for permission. It seems like such a strange thing to need consent granted for. I’m not sure what I’m even asking _for_. I’m not sure what death sounds like right now. Comforting? It’s so easy to think that a person’s will to live is stronger than the easiness of death, but it’s completely fictional. My will to live is not stronger then the drag of death. Death right now sounds merciful.

I want this pain to go away, it’s unbelievable. My whole existence feels like it’s dangling on a string and my grip is slipping. I’m afraid to let go though, like letting go of the string will drop me into an abyss, but it’s so tantalizing that I’m finding it ever harder to turn down.

“No, I forbid you to die,” he says and I don’t see him. I hear him, but my eyes aren’t working. I see hazy light, and nothing else. I can’t even feel my body, it’s like I’m just an entity whose only reality is agony.

“It hurts so bad, Gerard! No one ever tells you that it hurts,” I scream feeling the icy pain coursing through me.

“You’re not dying, Frankie,” he tries to tell me but I don’t believe him.

“Why does it have to hurt? I want it to stop, Gerard! Make it go away. Make it stop,” I beg, and I’m finding it hard to keep conscious. I can’t see anything. I feel like I’m drifting aimlessly in the air. I can’t feel the ground or anything aside from this awful suffering.

“Death isn’t an option, Frank.”

“To die would be an awfully big adventure.”

“Don’t you dare go quoting fucking Peter Pan on me, fuckface,” Gerard says and I laugh partially, but I’m not all there. I’ve got one foot in reality and the other in existential oblivion.

“I’m sorry,” I say, squeezing the voice out with every ounce of strength I have.

“No Frank, please!” he screams and I hear the ‘please’ loud and clear like he’s screaming it with his whole body. I feel shaking, but I doubt it’s my own. Somewhere Gerard’s holding me and he’s shaking, as well as crying, but that’s on a whole different plane then the one I’m on.

“Love...” I’ve forgotten the other word I’m looking for and my eyes feel flooded, but I can’t tell if I’m crying or not, “you.”

“I love you too,” Gerard says, and with that I’m gone. No more thinking, no more hurting, no more anything. No more me. No more Gerard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love for you to tell me how much you hate me in the comments.


	38. A New Turn of Events

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I killed Frank.

“Hurry up, Frank!” Gerard yells.

“Give me a minute!” I holler back at him.

“I’ve given you three hours, just hurry your ass up! I want to go,” he complains for the millionth time. Really, I should be the one complaining, but he’s an annoying little bastard who cares way too much about me.

“Need I remind you that I fucking died Gerard,” I say, “for like a whole minute.”

“Oh you’re exaggerating it was only a few seconds.”

I stick my head out of the door to look at him with narrowed eyes, “and how many times have you died, Gerard?”

“Touché.”

“But he’s not wrong, Frank. We’ve been waiting for like hours,” Mikey complains. He’s got his body laying across the hood of the car looking jaded from the long wait.

“You could help,” I spit at him, “I’ve got a bullet hole in my chest and you’re being entirely unhelpful.”

“I’m not that desperate to go that I want to exert energy,” Mikey says, not moving.

“I’ll help,” Gerard says running over to me and he grabs the suitcase in my hand. I’ve been trying to underplay the whole bullet thing for the past few weeks because it makes Gerard worry, but it still hurts like a bitch. I can’t move my arm without feeling it, and it stings to have to lift things with my right arm. My left arm isn’t to great either, but it’s working better then it’s counterpart.

At least the stitches are out though because they’d have made this almost impossible. I’m still getting sick of being so weak.

“You okay, Frankie?” He asks me as he takes the luggage from me which makes me sigh in relief.

I frown at his question. The one time I let it show that I’m in pain and he’s already gotten to worrying. I hate all this babying I’ve been getting. I like that Gerard wants to take care of me, but I’m not six. If it was really that bad then I’d say something. It really is fucking _bad_ , but I keep my mouth shut. This whole dilemma is already troublesome enough.

“I’m fine, Gerard. Really,” I tell him with a fake smile. I don’t feel horrendous, I just ache all over. Mentally, I’m pretty good at the moment it’s just so hard to move around.

“You’re lying,” he says assuredly. Gerard is way too good at picking up on that which makes it so much harder to try not making him concerned.

“Gerard I’m not going to get any better if I let you do everything for me. It’s bearable, okay? It hurts, but I’m still functional.”

“I’m not saying that you can’t do things, I’m saying that some things you need help with _for now_.”

I sigh, but I just let him walk away with the suitcase and he stuffs it in the trunk.

It’s not the nicest car in the world. We only had a few hours to pick it out so it’s better than nothing, but I do wish we’d gotten something nicer. I don’t know shit about cars so I have no idea what type of car it even is. Something that was reasonably priced at a used car lot. I think the only criteria that we were looking to fit was ‘good mileage’, ‘regular looking,’ and ‘doesn’t smell bad’ so it’s successful on all three accounts.

It’s a dull black color, not shiny, but not dirty either. Inconspicuous is what I’d call it, which is ideal. We didn’t want a car so fancy that you take notice of it, but also not a car so trashy that it catches your attention.

Mikey is splayed across the hood looking bored as ever, and I’m just standing here moping, like I always seem to be doing nowadays, outside the hotel room door. I’ve felt useless for the last three weeks doing absolutely nothing but lounging about in various beds. Hospital beds, hotel room beds, Gerard’s bed, and I’ve been told that I’ve visited a few gurneys as well.

I don’t really remember much of what happened after I was shot. I remember hurting but I don’t remember what the pain was even like. I’ve blanked on just about everything, including my apparent J.M. Barrie ramblings. The last thing I remember about what happened in the motel room was kissing Gerard and then wrestling for a gun. That’s it though. I have nothing else but Gerard’s word to go by.

One good thing I’ve learned since the incident is that I’m not as fucking stupid as I thought I was. When I told the motel receptionist to call the police, she did, and that’s what saved my life. If the police hadn’t been called the ambulance wouldn’t have gotten there on time and I’d have died for real.

Also, it was a stupid thing to do to try and take the gun from that guy, but I feel a little better about the fact that it wasn’t my finger that pulled the trigger. They found no gun powder residue on any of my fingers which means that the guy who tried to kill me is the one who ultimately shot me. It’s still my fault of course for getting shot in the first place, but it worked didn’t it? I’m still alive, and so is Gerard so I’d call it a success.

After I blacked out, the ambulance came, Gerard was apparently covered in my blood, and I was brought to the hospital. I died for a grand total of 29 seconds before pulling through. I guess that in a lot of ways it’s being shot that’s kept the three of us alive for three weeks. The hospital had people staffed to watch over my room for the entire time of my stay which was up until yesterday when I was released. Mikey and Gerard kept it safe by never venturing too far from security.

The twenty-four hour guard meant that no one came to finish the job, thus my still-beating heart.

As soon as we left the hospital yesterday we went to the police station where they offered witness protection program to the three of us. I don’t really blame Gerard for refusing it though, because he’s come so far with his career that giving it all up now wouldn’t be worth it. Instead, we’re taking an extended vacation to the middle of nowhere. The North Country isn’t really my idea of fun, but it’s secluded enough and we really have no other choice.

The North Country is just fancy talk for upstate New York, where we’re going to be hiding out, possibly indefinitely. Gerard’s still going to write his comic, but from up there where he’ll mail it to his editor. We’re forbidden from writing any return addresses on anything, or telling anyone where we’re going. I wouldn’t say ‘forbidden’ actually, but that’s what the police advised. We’re basically trying to eliminate ourselves from the grid. Banks can’t get to us to finish the job if we’ve disappeared and that’s what we’re doing. Disappearing.

I don’t know if I want to disappear but it’s too late now. I’ve been shot for the cause, so there’s no turning back. As soon as we get in that car and drive, we’re not looking back. I hope we do come back sometime in the near future, but not until Banks is dead or in prison obviously.

It’s not witness protection it’s just victim vanishing. I guess it’s the best we can ask for, and this way we’re safer than if we were to stay in New York.

It takes another ten minutes before Gerard decides that we’re ready to go.

“Mikeyway if you don’t get up from the hood of this car right now then I swear to god I will drive off with you right there hanging from the windshield wipers,” Gerard says.

“I’m moving! Jeez, calm down,” he says in response and peels off the hood leisurely.

I stare at him contemptuously, and when he stands up to look at me I give him a wink and say, “dibs on shotgun.”

“Fuck you,” he says.

I smile, but accept his words and find my seat next to Gerard.

“I haven’t owned a real car in _years_ ,” Gerard says.

“If you can even call this shit-wagon a real car,” Mikey says after reluctantly getting into the backseat.

“Stop being so negative, you’re making everything sound awful,” Gerard says as he looks at Mikey from the rearview mirror.

“Sorry, sorry. I just hate road trips. Especially night road trips,” he replies. I can’t say I blame him. It’s almost seven and the sun is starting to set, but the police tipped us that it’s best to leave at night, and to leave from a place that no one is going to be looking for us at.

Gerard and Mikey decided to rent a hotel room because of that, but it wasn’t in use almost at all because Gerard had constantly been at the hospital with me by my bedside. I can’t complain about that in the slightest, because it always made me happy to wake up with his hand in mine.

Gerard hesitantly starts the car, and he looks at the wheel like it’s completely foreign to him.

“You okay?” I ask him.

“Mm, yeah. It’s just scary to leave. I don’t know when we’re coming back. Or if, we’re coming back.”

I take his hand and try my best at a comforting smile.

“Don’t worry, we’re coming back,” I say.

Gerard blinks a few times back at me, but he looks a little better at hearing the words even if they’re just an empty promise.

“Ew, brother in the car. Brother in the car!” Mikey shouts from the backseat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, like I was actually going to kill him.


	39. I Just Wanted To Hold You in My Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerard’s a pervert and Frank likes stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter totally isn’t based off of the song Starlight by Muse. Totally isn’t. Not even slightly. That’s why I didn’t name the chapter after a lyric in that song.

“You’re brother fucking snores,” I say sometime past midnight. “I hate him.”

“Do you want me to drive over a bump or something?” Gerard asks and he glances at me with complete seriousness.

“You would do that for me?” I ask grinning.

“Anything for you,” he winks gratuitously, “but I also kind of want to piss Mikey off.”

I’m getting really sick of all this driving though. It’s taking us about twice as long to get there because of this thing called ‘heat running’ where you take a bunch of weird turns and never move in a straight line. It’s to prevent being followed, but there hasn’t been a single car behind us in miles so I don’t even see the point anymore.

We’re driving through a generic small town by the highway when Gerard finds a decent sized speed bump to wake Mikey up.

“Ahshit!” Mikey says being jolted awake. He looks at me staring at him and then at Gerard who’s glancing at him from the mirror.

“You did that on purpose, you asshole!”

“You snore,” I tell him assertively, like it’s his fault. He can’t really control his nasal passage ways anymore then the next guy, but it’s fun to see him look so irritated.

“And you are a dick,” Mikey says rubbing at his eyes.

“I am not a dick,” I say to him and turn back in my seat to look at the road in front of us which is bland interstate, “I have a dick, but that does not make me one.”

Mikey scoffs and then sets his head against the window looking ready to go back to sleep. I do not want to put up with another three hours of him snoring though. This trip is taking forever, and I don’t want to have to worry about snoring.

“No way are you falling asleep again, Mikey!” I warn him.

“Fucking watch me,” he says grumpily and he closes his eyes and puts his head against the hard window.

“So Gerard what is the loudest CD you brought with you?” I say, making sure that Mikey can hear.

“Fine! I’ll stay awake, I won’t snore. I hate you both.”

“What did _I_ do?” Gerard asks defensively.

“ _You_ brought him!”

“He got shot!” Gerard yells back, and I feel so out of the loop not knowing what it’s like having a brother. I mean, I get that they’re playing with each other, but it’s scary how convincing it is that they’re mad at each other. I guess that’s just something you never learn when you’re an only child, but it’s still kind of weird. I actually like the new color in Gerard though, because it adds dimensions to him.

“That’s not my fault,” Mikey replies.

“He saved your life,” Gerard says.

“That’s debatable, I might have gotten out of jail for another reason if he hadn’t helped.”

Gerard squints at him, “like what? Because the way I remember it is that the evidence was overwhelmingly stacked against you or have I gotten my facts jumbled up?”

“Well we’ll never know, will we?” Mikey says.

“Yeah, because Frank saved your life.”

“But that doesn’t mean I want to go on a road trip with him.”

“He can _hear_ you,” Gerard says giving me a look like he can’t believe he’s related to Mikey.

The fake argument ends with Mikey flipping Gerard off and Gerard telling me to flip Mikey off for him because he’s driving. He could easily do it himself, but I think he just wants to push Mikey’s buttons a little bit.

About ten minutes later a bored sounding chorus of “are we there yet” starts from the backseat and doesn’t let up for a few hours. After it gets to a point where I’m likely to actually murder him I just start throwing things. Mikey tries to throw them back at me, but soon realizes that he can’t do that without distracting Gerard. Despite his tenacious nature, not even Mikey wants us to plow into a tree because Gerard isn’t looking where he’s going.

I fall asleep, but I don’t feel as bad about it as I would if the circumstances were different. I’m on, like, twelve different painkillers at the moment because every joint inside of me has rusted and my upper body especially feels like... well, it feels like I was shot in the chest.

I blearily hear a few snippets of conversation as I’m lulling back and forth through awake and unconscious.

“Oh so _he’s_ allowed to sleep?” Mikey’s voice questions.

“What part of getting shot isn’t computing for you?”

“You just like watching him sleep, you pervert.”

Then I really do fall asleep and my dreams are the strange kind you can only get when you’re high or if you fell asleep while watching Adventure Time. Basically the painkillers just throw me on a whacked up acid trip.

“No I don’t want to wake him up, he’s so cute,” Gerard’s voice creeps into my fantasy about dancing grapefruits.

“I knew you were a pervert. Voyeuristic pervert, with a drool fetish,” Mikey replies.

“I- he is not drooling!”

“So you don’t deny that you’re a perv?” Mikey says with victory in his voice.

“I’m not!” Gerard answers, “shut up asshat.”

“I may be an asshat, but at least I don’t get off by watching people sleep.”

“I fucking hate you.”

Mikey’s voice responds cheerily, “I know.”

~*~*~*~

“Frank?” Gerard’s voice says, “Frankie, come on.”

I groan and try to push him away, but as soon as I move I realize how uncomfortable I am. My head is between the seat and the door which is squeezing painfully against both, and my limbs are all hanging in awkward directions.

“Frank, I wouldn’t wake you, but we’re here. I just thought you’d be more comfortable in a horizontal position.”

I don’t open my eyes and try to get comfy, but it’s not going to work, “that sounds like a come on, Gerard. Are you trying to seduce me?”

I actually hear Gerard turn red. Like, I don’t even need to open my eyes to know that he’s covered in blush.

“F-frank, just get up. We’re not going to do any unpacking or anything yet, I just want to get inside and go to bed. Mikey’s already gone in, you just have to come on and get up.”

I frown, but finally push myself up and blink my eyes open with an unruly yawn. My eyes open to see that the sky is still dark, and I can’t really tell much about where we are.

“W’time is it?” I ask.

“Just past four in the morning,” Gerard says and I hear the door open. My eyes refuse to stay open so I almost fall out of the car when my door opens.

“Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to... you okay?” Gerard rambles.

“Fine. Didn’t even fall,” I say and I rotate my legs then put my hands on the seat to help myself get up. I don’t like the way that my whole body feels so stiff, especially my arm, so I groan on the way up.

“You don’t sound fine. Do you need to take some more pain meds or something?”

“That might not be a bad idea, actually,” I say. There’s about a four weeks supply of the painkillers, and I can fill the prescription again at any drug store, but they said I should feel better within a few months. Going to have the scar on my chest forever though.

“Yeah, hold on, I’ve got to find it,” Gerard says. He closes the door behind me then leaves me leaning against it while he looks around in the back of the car. I’m surprised at how much we were able to cram in the trunk, but it’s a few suitcases at least. We left out some necessities and Gerard’s reasoning as that we’d just buy some in the nearest town.

He comes back with a small orange bottle, but I don’t have any water to get the pills down so I just hold the little bottle and look at it solemnly.

“Sorry, come on, Frank let’s get inside, I’ll get you a glass of water,” Gerard says and starts tugging me towards an actual house. It’s a real life house, not an apartment which is kind of refreshing after the number of years I’ve lived in New York.

The house definitely has two stories and possibly a basement, with an aging grass lawn out in front of it. The grass doesn’t look dry it just looks unkempt and wild. All around the front and behind us is just row after row of trees. There’s a few windows on the side of the house that we’re looking at and wood paneling along the entire thing. It’s a dark house because of the wood, but I like the way it looks. It’s huge though, way bigger then the house I grew up in, but it’s the kind of house that is probably used as more of a vacation home then an actual house. I don’t really care, I just think it’s a nice looking place.

There’s a small front porch with a yellow light that’s been turned on and it illuminates the presence of a few moths fluttering around. They’re all flying at the lamp like they’re trying to understand it, but what really catches my eye is what I see when I look up even further.

“Whoa Gerard, look at the stars,” I say, fascinated by the sky. I haven’t seen a sky that clear in such a long time that I forgot what it even looked like. Some stars are brighter than others and some of them almost seem to twinkle. It’s like they’re having a competition to see who can be the most dazzling.

Gerard’s got an arm around my waist and he turns to look at me before looking up. I see him smile, but I’m not sure if it’s more because of the stars, or because of the fact that I’m so intrigued by them.

“It’s amazing that those are all light-years away, isn’t it? Those stars have no idea what shit we go through on earth, because they just keep shining. Day after day, they stay in the sky and let off light almost like they’re trying to say hello to us, but the hello is billions of years old by the time we see it,” I say.

“You like stars, don’t you, Frankie?”

“I _love_ them,” I tell him, and look back at him merrily, “not everything that you see is as magical or complex as a star. I get that it’s just light, or burning gas, trillions of miles away, but I think stars are so beautiful.”

“I always thought stars were fireflies that got stuck up there in that big bluish black thing,” Gerard says and I look over at him to roll my eyes, but I get caught up on how pretty he looks.

He looks tired, and in need of a shower, but he also looks fantastical. He’s almost more magical looking then the stars themselves. To be honest he probably is, because there’s so much vibrancy in him. His heart is like a firecracker and his soul is the match that keeps it burning stronger and stronger every day.

The starlight twinkles in his eyes and ignites a need to be near him inside of me. The way that hazel mixes with the light of the stars is breathtaking and makes me feel a little lightheaded.

“So pretty,” I say.

“Yeah I like the stars too,” Gerard states.

“Not the stars, silly. You. You’re the pretty one,” he looks at me disapprovingly for a minute, but I can tell that he’s trying not to smile. I love the way he’s so modest, but I don’t understand how he has room to even doubt how perfect he is. If I were that perfect, I wouldn’t need someone to tell me.

I don’t think before I just grab him and put my mouth over his, wanting to feel closer. I can’t stand how beautiful he is to me, especially right now, like this. The way his lips conform to mine and the way he knows precisely where to put his hands on my hips to make me feel the kiss in every part of my body.

If I wasn’t already fucked in love then I surely am now. He makes me tingle and I get a buzz of satisfaction whenever he’s kissing me.

It’s not like I didn’t live until he was here, I just didn’t live to the full extent. I don’t feel incomplete without Gerard, but I feel gifted to be with him.

“You electrify my life,” I say absently.

“And I promise not to let you fade away.”

I’m so overwhelmed with emotions that I don’t even know what I’m thinking. I just giggle and press into him lazily.

“Let’s get inside, okay? I think we both need some sleep.”

“Kay,” I answer and follow him, even though my bones protest unanimously.

The door is unlocked and hanging open with a mosquito net door clinging to the stilted frame. The screen is thin, but it’ll keep the bugs out. We walk into the house, closing the door behind us, and we’re instantly greeted by the warm light from a sizeable entryway. We walk further into the house and find the living room directly in front of us and to our immediate left is the kitchen which is bare aside from an empty refrigerator, an oven and the cabinets. At first I don’t think there’s even a microwave until I realize that it’s tucked away in one of the drawers.

We got a pre-furnished home, but there’s nothing here besides the basics. I actually like the way it feels though, like it’s waiting to be lived in and decorated.

The living room proves to be an amazing sight, because there’s wall to wall windows on the entire back wall that look out onto a forest. I can only describe the scenery as such because the foliage is thick, but it’s still comforting.

The TV set is minimalistic, but the couch and arm chair look cozy enough. The living room is fairly large though and takes up most of the floor other than the kitchen on the other side of the wall. Other than the two rooms the only thing on this floor is a half bathroom. There’s a set of stairs that leads upward just off the kitchen, but the basement is just a laundry room. Gerard peeks down the stairs underneath the other stairwell and says that it’s very simple, and dingy looking, so I don’t bother to look.

I grab a glass of water, chug it down along with the pill, and then we make our way up the stairs. My legs aren’t too bad it’s just my arm and shoulder which have transitioned from a stabbing feeling to a dull burning sensation.

Gerard drags one of the suitcases behind him that he shrugs off in passing to be filled with bedding. There’s not going to be anything other than just the bedframes and mattresses upstairs, but Gerard didn’t have room to pack everything, so I assume we’re going to have to buy a bedspread tomorrow. It’ll be kind of a cold night without one, but we’re all so exhausted that it shouldn’t matter.

“I don’t know why you got us a house with three rooms, Gerard. Frank certainly isn’t going to sleep in his room,” Mikey says to us as we reach the landing.

“How do you know Gerard’s not the one sleeping in _my_ room?” I reply, and look around the floor. It’s just a straight hallway with doors on either side.

The stairs come up in the middle of the hallway where two doors are on the same side, one a bedroom and one the bathroom. The corresponding side on the opposite wall has another two doors, another bedroom and the master bedroom.

Gerard and I walk into the master, waving goodnight to Mikey, who childishly decides to take the room furthest from ours.

The room is really big, with a dresser, a bathroom, and a gigantic bed. The window is almost a floor to floor like the other one, but it has curtains which have been drawn and we decide not to pull them open because the sun will be out soon. I have never seen a bed so monstrously huge. It’s bigger than a king so I don’t know what exactly to call it, but the sheets Gerard brought aren’t going to fit over it.

We decide to just lay out a few blankets and deal with it when we wake up. By the time I collapse onto the bed in Gerard’s arms, I’m almost already asleep. It only takes me a few seconds before I drift back off into my dreams, thinking about stars this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment maybe?


	40. Nothing Really Happens Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title says it all.

I wake up some time in the late afternoon, before Gerard has even begun to stir but he’s looking completely wiped out as he’s face down against his pillow. I don’t disturb him, and meander down stairs, but we have no food so I sit in the kitchen looking at an empty cabinet for a few minutes. When it sinks in that I can’t make any food with only salt, pepper and a bottle of hand soap, I walk over to the living room, but the TV is broken.

Isn’t that just great? We have no access to television and we’re in the middle of fucking nowhere so there’s probably no one to even call to come fix it. I don’t have a technical brain though so it’s not unlikely that it can be fixed with a few tweaks, but knowing me, I’d probably make it explode if I tried.

I walk around the room looking for something to do, but there’s nothing anywhere, as to be expected. Almost like if you stay at a hotel there does happen to be a bible in one of the drawers, not hollowed out which eases my conscious, but I’m not in the mood to read about the abomination that is shrimp, so I leave it in the drawer and question what to do while the I let the Way’s sleep in.

Before I do anything else I take a dosage of painkillers even though I’m not feeling anything right now. The bottle says to take them in the morning, so I will do what the bottle says. Besides, I can already tell that my arm is starting to cramp again.

I decide to bring in some of the bags that we left in the car so I drag in a few pieces of luggage before the car has been emptied. I don't know what is inside of each, or where they’re meant to go so I decide to just leave them in the entryway. I don’t want to go snooping around their things even after I’ve done it extensively already. Now I have nothing to do though. I just have to sit and wait for someone to wake up and talk to me.

I brought a severe lack of anything with me, and all the stuff I did bring fits into my one piece of luggage. I just didn’t have much I couldn’t live without, and it was a lot harder to pack when I had to tell Gerard what to get from my apartment. It’s not like I could waltz into my building while I was in the hospital, and it just seemed easier for Gerard to get my stuff. It wasn’t all that embarrassing for me, because I don’t really have anything embarrassing to hide in my apartment. I’m going to have to decide whether to pay my rent so that I can keep my stuff, or if I should just let whatever I haven’t collected be taken away. I’m not really attached to anything in there so it’s not that big of a deal if I have to leave it. I might send it to storage or something, but I don’t know when or if I’ll be able to do that without being present at the time. That’s a problem for another day.

I hear someone walking down the stairs not long after I finish bringing things in and see Mikey, looking bleary-eyed and tired, enter the kitchen.

“Hello Frank,” he says, and proceeds to look at the empty cupboard the same way I had a while ago.

“I’d say good morning, but it’s the middle of the afternoon,” I say.

“We have no food,” he states. I know he’s just stating the obvious but I understand the sadness in his voice.

“We should wait for Gerard though,” I say.

“You’re right,” Mikey says and closes the cabinet, “but I’m hungry.”

“I don’t even know where the nearest town from here is,” I say.

“Where’s my computer? I can check,” Mikey asks himself and then proceeds to walk by me and I see him stop in the entry hall looking at the various bags lying there precariously.

“Do you think you’re going to find a Wi-Fi signal out here?”

“It’s possible,” Mikey shrugs.

While he’s looking through a bag, his head snaps up and his eyes fall on mine like he just realized something really important, “We don’t have coffee. Gerard’s going to freak out if he wakes up and there’s no coffee.”

“Yeah but then we’d have to either get the shit instant kind you put in the microwave, or buy a coffee maker as well.”

“No we don’t,” Mikey says and he stands up to go look through a different suitcase, “you think Gerard would go anywhere for an extended period of time without bringing a coffeemaker?”

He holds up the small device that’s been sitting in Gerard’s kitchen for as long as I’ve known him, and I feel a little stupid that I didn’t realize he’d bring it.

“You go get coffee, I don’t care,” I tell him, and walk back into the living room.

Mikey groans, “Fine, I’ll get some food then as well. I’ll be back sometime soonish, maybe.”

“Don’t get lost!” I yell at him.

“Fuck off Iero!” he says and then a balled up roll of socks hits the back of my head. I try to throw it back, but he’s gone by the time I do so it’s too late.

I just sigh, and grab my suitcase, then lug it upstairs. I don’t want to wake Gerard, but he’s already stirring by the time that I get into the room so I know he’s probably going to wake up pretty soon anyway.

“Frank?” Gerard says not opening his eyes. He probably heard me bustling around so I walk over to him splayed carelessly on the bed.

“What it is it?” I ask him.

“Do I have to wake up?” he asks and he pulls the fringe of red hair out of his eyes, before blinking them open groggily.

“Not if you don’t want to,” I tell him.

“M’kay,” he says, before rolling over. I think he’s cute so I just leave him be for a few minutes, before looking back at the suitcase. I don’t really want to do any unloading again, because my arms starting to flame up after moving things into the house. It probably wasn’t a smart idea, but I was trying to be helpful.

I think for a minute before deciding to just get back into bed with Gerard. I crawl in behind him and put my head on his shoulder. He’s not asleep because I see him smile as soon as I wrap my arm around him.

“You’re not asleep you little liar,” I whisper, making him giggle.

“Where’s Mikey?” he asks blankly.

“Went to go get some coffee and shit,” I tell him.

“So we have the house to ourselves?” he asks.

“What are you proposing, Gerard?” I ask, with a mixture of emotions. On one hand I would love to do something, but on the other I think it’d hurt. My arms are weak with very little strength so I’m not really sure if I’m in any condition for _things_.

“Do you wanna maybe take a shower?” he asks, and I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad idea. He’s not too smelly, but he will be if he doesn’t rectify it soon. What he’s suggesting isn’t really about cleaning up though and we both know that.

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, Gerard,” I tell him.

He makes a moping sound and then turn over to face me, “Why not?”

“I’m still really sore at the moment. Maybe in a few days, if that’s alright?”

He looks down but I don’t know what to make of his expression.

“Okay, but I’m going to shower then,” he says and he crawls out of bed quickly.

“You’re not, like, mad at me, are you?” I ask.

“What? Oh god no!” He says quickly looking scared, “no, definitely not, sorry. Just really need a shower that’s all.”

I nod, feeling better, but I do wish I were feeling physically better as well. I feel like the definition of shit, and it’s starting to get annoying with how many things this bullet has taken away from my life.

It’ll be better soon. At least that’s what I have to tell myself.


	41. Discussions About the Crude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> desCRIPTION

After a riveting day of driving around trying to find a Bed, Bath & Beyond, we finally found a place to pick up the basic essentials. New sheets, a duvet, cutlery, and shit and we now have a semi-functional house. Evidently all the TV needed was to be plugged into a different socket. I at least feel much better about that then I would if I had just been using the wrong remote.

“Remind me not to call you if I need someone to help me fix the toaster,” Mikey says.

“What on earth did you do to the fucking toaster that would mean it needed fixing?”

“I don’t know, but knowing Mikey, whatever he did to it, it’d have to be a brave little toaster,” Gerard says.

“Did you just allude to one of the most trippy Disney movies in all of existence?” I ask.

“I may have.”

I give him a judgmental look and then glance over at Mikey to see if he’s surprised how stupid Gerard can be sometimes.

“Don’t look at me,” Mikey says, “you’re the one who actively decided to date him.”

“You guys are mean,” Gerard pouts.

“I’m still not convinced that you don’t have permanent brain damage,” Mikey says, “You may want to look into that if you find Gerard in any way appealing.”

Mikey doesn’t really have many settings. He looks serious no matter what he says, and acerbity is lost in his words so that you have to just hope that he’s being sarcastic. Mikey is probably the only person who could say the phrase ‘yeah right’ without sounding sarcastic.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m awesome,” Gerard smirks.

“You just keep telling yourself that,” Mikey answers.

Honestly, I’m still dead on my feet from exhaustion so we head up to not long after we got back from the errands. Mikey says something about not being too loud, Gerard flips him off, a rampage of expletives ensues.

I lie down on the bed that is way too big, and I’m already starting to doze off when Gerard interrupts me with words.

“Are you sure you don’t want to do something?”

“I’ve only been out of the hospital for like three days Gerard. Give me some time,” I tell him.

“I’m not... ugh, it’s not like I’m angry that we haven’t done anything,” Gerard says trying to find the words he’s looking for. “I just don’t know what to do to help you, Frankie. I know you’re still sore from being shot and I understand, I do, and I don’t want to hurt you anymore then you’ve already been. I don’t want to do anything you don’t wanna do, but I just feel like I’m being... I don’t know, cut out of that part of your life because I can’t _do_ anything to make you want to stay. I already have so little to offer you.”

I cannot believe Gerard is saying this. He actually thinks I’d lose interest in him if we don’t have sex or something.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” I say with a roll of my eyes and I try to bury myself further in the blankets, but when I do Gerard props himself on a pillow to look down at me with a serious expression.

“Fraaank,” he grumbles. “I just want to, ugh, I don’t even know.”

“Listen, Gerard,” I say trying to replicate the seriousness in his face, but it’s hard because I’m not really taking this situation very seriously, “I, Frank Iero, do not care about sex, almost at all. It is enjoyable, and I have enjoyed participating in it with you, but I don’t need it in a relationship to be happy.”

“You say that but-“

“Nope. Nuh-uh. I ain’t lying to you, okay? This isn’t a permanent thing either, got that? Right now, I don’t really want that in my life because I’m not sure I’m really ready yet. But, like I said, give it some time, let me recover from this, and I’m going to be yours in every way that you want me to be.”

“I feel like such a fucking prude though,” he says and falls back on the bed like his bones turned to jell-o or something. I would lean on my arm to look down at him, but I don’t think I can. Like actually I don’t think I’m physically capable of doing that right now.

“I have to take pain killers to fucking walk, Gerard. There’s no way I’m going to be up for anything for a while,” I tell him.

“But is there something I can do?” he asks with a miniscule voice.

“Not just yet,” I tell him.

We’re silent for a long time, but he’s not asleep. His breathing’s uneven and he keeps rolling around in the sheets. It’s kind of cute, but I just want him to suck it up and cuddle me. I know he’s not angry at me that I can’t do anything, he’s angry at himself that he can’t. He probably feels as hopeless in this as I do about everything else.

“You want to know something really fucking demeaning?” I say randomly.

“I don’t know, do I?” He asks without sarcasm.

I frown and say as seriously as I can manage, “my arms are practically useless right now. I can’t use either one because it makes my chest cramp up, so I can’t lift heavy things, or move things, and I had trouble with opening a damn door.”

“What’s your point?”

“I can’t even have a good wank,” I say bluntly.

Gerard snorts and I feel the bed shake as he moves around on the other end.

His head pops into my peripheral and I look at him innocently.

“Come here, you fucking dork,” Gerard says and he carefully pulls me against him and everything feels instantly better. Life feels a lot better with him there. He’s a very efficient person to have around when you’re looking for a big spoon. Just the way he’s tucking his head into my neck and the way it fits there so perfectly. It’s driving me crazy how much I love to be near him.

I wish I knew how good love felt before him or I’d have never have looked so down upon it. This is amazing, doing absolutely nothing. Having Gerard be there, holding me, like he somehow feels an ounce of the love I feel for him. A drop of the emotion I have for him would send most people sprawling on the ground. I don’t even know how I’m able to handle it.

“It’s actually really nice to just do nothing without worrying about being killed as much,” Gerard says.

“Yeah, we should’ve done this before I got shot,” I say.

“Frank, you don’t blame me for that do you? I mean if you did, I wouldn’t disagree with you because this is all my-“

“No, I don’t blame you. I won’t deny that this is partly your fault but no more so than it is mine. You did a bad thing Gerard, but that doesn’t mean you deserve to die. There’s nothing in the world that would mean you deserve to be dead.”

“Well, but you’re biased. How would someone else feel? What do you think Mikey would think?” he asks.

“I’m still trying to figure Mikey _himself_ out,” I say. “You know he only has like four different emotions?”

“Three actually. Annoyed, neutral and pissed off.”

I chuckle and then try to reposition myself to be more comfortable and I feel Gerard’s hand slip under the collar of my shirt.

“I can’t help but blame myself for this though,” he says and I know that he’s referring to the scar on my chest. I’m kind of afraid of the little mark. It’s red, gross, blotchy and sticks out. There’s also an odd looking distortion in the tattoos there that I’ve decided not to focus on because it’ll only depress me.

“I told you I’d do anything to protect you. I never thought it would be so literal as to mean that I’d take a bullet for you, but I have and I don’t regret it. We’d have both died if I hadn’t used my stupid heroics, and I’m not sad about that. Think about it Gerard, if I didn’t have this scar we’d both be dead.”

“Still, I wish there was something I could do to make this better. You shouldn’t have had to spend three weeks in a hospital because of me, but you did and that sucks,” he says.

“I don’t want to sound cliché or anything but you’re company is enough. God, I sound like a fucking rom com character.”

“Hey don’t diss the rom com. Well, some, but not all,” Gerard jokes.

“Because 27 Dresses really is a quality film,” I answer sardonically.

“You’re only entertained if six people have been beheaded and there’s enough fake blood to fill a swimming pool.”

“Not true. If it can only fill a kiddie pool, that’s fine.”

Gerard snorts and buries his head in my neck a minute later.

“Night, Frankie.”

“Good night,” I say with a smile. It is a good night though. Gerard’s here, he’s adorable, and we’re not in any immediate danger so I’m happy. I’m not going to let Banks win that easily, and I’m certainly not going to allow him to become a senator, but for now I don’t need to worry about him. I just get to worry about Gerard and myself, and really, that’s all I’m after anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me a comment and I'll love you forever.


	42. Making it Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fucking smut. Literally.

“You know I couldn’t help but get to thinking last night, that there are a whole bunch of things we can do that don’t require you to do much of anything at all,” Gerard says. It’s too early in the morning for him to sound so upbeat, and I want to tell him to shut up and go back to bed, but I get caught up on what he just said.

“I’m listening.”

“Well see, you don’t need to move if you don’t want to or can’t, and it can still be fun for the both of us,” Gerard says.

“I am open to suggestions,” I say.

“How about examples?”

And just like that Gerard’s kissing my neck, and it feels way too good to pass up on, so I’ll let it slide. I don’t know what time it is, but I hope Mikey’s asleep because I make an unflattering mewling sound. I’ve been abstinent for, like, three weeks though, give me a break, and it doesn’t help that Gerard knows his way with his tongue.

“I quite like examples,” I say meagerly, and Gerard snickers and lifts his head to look at me. It’s kind of awkward to kiss him because I’m facing away, but he stretches over to meet my lips.

“Wait no,” I say before he even has a chance to kiss me, “What about my morning breath?”

Gerard rolls his eyes and kisses me anyway. I worry way too much about inconsequential things, but I really like him. His breath isn’t bad so hopefully mine isn’t either.

“You’re stupid,” he mumbles, and then bites gently down on my lip.

I start, “I hope you don’t feel pressured to-“

“Shut up and kiss me,” he says and he pushes his tongue into my mouth, but I can’t complain. I can’t complain because he’s a good kisser, and also there’s a tongue in my mouth that is not my own, so I physically _can’t_ complain.

“Would you lie down for me, Frankie?” Gerard asks, “On your back.”

“Kay,” I say sounding like a complete buffoon. I hate how clueless I become in Gerard’s presence, but at the same time I really like being in Gerard’s presence.

I’m pretty complacent with whatever Gerard wants especially in situations like this. I’d probably kill a man for him if he batted his eyelashes.

I don’t really know what to do in this situation though. My arms are sore, my chest is bruised, and I have the strength of a walnut. I’ll just listen to him, and hope he’s got a plan.

“You’re so malleable to suggestion, Frankie,” he giggles as he wraps one of his legs around me. He looks at me from his position above me and his hair is messy, but in a nice way. His roots are starting to show, but I don’t care right at this moment.

He carefully conforms his body to my own, making sure not to put any weight on me, so I bet he actually did think this through.

“Only for you,” I say. It’s totally true too, but he doesn’t need to know that. It is fucking obvious that I love him though, not just anybody will literally take a bullet for you.

“Tell me if you need me to stop,” he says, and then I feel his hands creeping down my body _agonizingly_ slowly. His knee also takes a position between my thighs and it’s fucking majestic.

“I’m going to need you to hurry it up, you bastard. It’s been weeks.”

“Patience,” Gerard says with an evil glint in his eye. Evil as in not evil, not evil like Banks who really is evil. I make _so_ much sense. Especially when I’m horny.

Pants are such a burden, I hate pants. Pants are stupid. Pants are for losers. Unless, and only unless, someone is breaking into your boyfriend’s apartment. Then pants are important.

I can’t actually get to the fricking zipper on my pants though because Gerard’s in the way. He’s doing his best to mark up my neck, which I fully appreciate, but it’s not enough. I’m also not looking forward to explaining to Mikey that his brother gave me a hickey, but I can solve that with a turtle neck sweater or something.

“Geraarrrrrrd,” I whine.

His hand ventures lower and sneaks under the hem of my boxers making me almost sigh with relief. I haven’t felt his warm touch in way too long, and it’s been driving me crazy. Now granted, I was unconscious for a lot of the three weeks, and most of the hours when I wasn’t unconscious, I was high as a kite, but it’s still been way too long. Morphine is a wonderful thing though, never let anyone tell you otherwise.

Another thing that is just as good, if not better than morphine, is Gerard. He’s a jack of all trades, and he doesn’t seem to get that. There are very few things he can’t do. Dancing is one of those few things. Also karate and swimming.

Gerard doesn’t have a large range of motion since his hand is trapped in my boxers, but he doesn’t seem all that troubled by pulling them down. I’m not all that troubled by it either, because the instant he does so is the instant where he pulls himself away from my neck and starts to descend to the lower half of my body.

I’m already way too hard, but I am not in the mood to complain. I’m in the mood to let him do whatever dirty things to me he wants to do.

Now, Gerard’s a good kisser, but there are a lot of other things he can do with his mouth as well, that I have come to learn over my time of knowing him. Some of the things that he does make me want to kick my past self for not getting with him sooner. If we’re going to be completely honest though, most of the things Gerard does make me wish I’d been with him sooner.

One such instance of this would be the way that he nips at the skin on my thighs and the way he’s so delicate. Gerard’s a very gentle person in pretty much any situation which makes it ideal for him to be here now.

You’re giving someone a lot of trust when you grant them the permission to position themselves between your legs, but I think the days of dubiously trusting Gerard are long behind me. To look back on it, I don’t think I’ve ever distrusted Gerard. He’s a very sweet person, and he’s incredibly dependable, so there’s never been a need to question him.

My body just about collapses when I feel the tip of my cock being taken in by Gerard’s mouth.

“Ffffuuuu,” is all that comes out of my mouth because the rest of the letters are hard to enunciate.

Further and further he stretches his lips around me, until he can’t anymore. I think he’s trying to swallow around me, but I don’t really have an easy time rationalizing the sensations around me. His hand rucks my shirt up exposing the scroll of ink on my stomach.

It’s hard to stay clinging to the surface of the earth when I can’t focus on a single thing in the world. I can’t concentrate on the sheets and blankets around me nor the sunlight trying to poke its way into our room from under the window. I can’t even remember my favorite color, because I’m losing myself with him.

His hand joins his mouth, getting to the part that his mouth can’t reach, and it makes my eyes fall closed and roll back into my skull. I pick my head up to look at him, and his eyes are fixed on mine, which is truly a _very_ good look on him.

There’s really nothing sexier than seeing Gerard’s swollen lips or the dark look in his eye that’s contrasting to the glimmer of hazel. I can’t stand the amazing feeling going through my body, but at the same time I never want to do anything else.

I run my tongue across the back of my teeth and try to wrap my head around how amazing it is that this is Gerard. Every time I see him feels like a dream, because there’s no way someone like me could ever be lucky enough to attract someone like him, let alone get him to fall in love with me. I do hope he loves me, but I’d be alarmed if he loves me as much as I love him.

I’m having trouble keeping my eyes open because it’s just so good, but I don’t want to look away from him. He’s so insanely gorgeous that it physically hurts to not be around him. I hate loving the way he makes me feel, but it’s euphoric. I can’t stop loving him, and I can’t stop needing him.

“Oh god,” I say in a whimper when his tongue darts along my slit gently. He has no idea how fucking amazing he is at this.

Eventually his hand around my cock decides its purpose is best served elsewhere, and I feel him, hesitantly at first, start to stroke across my frenulum which drives me absolutely crazy. I can’t see straight and it only gets worse when his mouth pulls off of my hard-on with an audible popping noise.

I look down to see what he’s doing and I lose it once again when I see a small trail of spit attaching his mouth to my cock. His mouth returns to its spot around my length a moment later, but he takes a long breath and smiles at me in such an innocent way that doesn’t even slightly make sense in this situation.

His hand snakes back up my body, tweaking at my nipple before he makes his hand stop under my chin, and a finger hooks into my mouth. I can’t do anything to stop this though, so I just let it happen, and he takes his hand back not long after.

He strokes the space under my balls again, and ever so carefully nudges his finger in my hole, and it’s too late for me now. I’m lost.

It takes a lot of effort to keep myself from grabbing his hair, even though he could probably handle it. _I_ might not, is the problem, because I’m sure it would cramp my shoulders out again. It’s killing me that I’m so useless, but at this very moment I’m finding it very hard to remember what’s even wrong.

Everything just seems to go away because it’s just me and Gerard, but mostly it’s Gerard’s mouth.

To be frank, which I actually am, I’ve never had such a good blowjob. Also never had sex with someone I’m in love with, but Gerard and I have a lot of firsts together.

I know when I’m getting close, but it arrives far too soon. I want to stay here, in bliss forever, or as long as I can be permitted to.

“Ger-” I try to say but I’m interrupted by my own moaning. The only sound coming from him is an obscene sucking sound and the occasional hum.

I find it quite hard to catch a breath between gasps. It’s becoming quite difficult to keep my legs apart as well, and not because it hurts. I just have this weird instinct to try to clasp my thighs around his head, but I don’t think that would go over too well. My legs don’t seem to have any control left, and I’m just trying to keep them wide enough.

“Gerard,” I moan out with a rasp that feels almost like a sob. My throat and lungs collapse the way they do when you are in need of a good cry, but it’s not in a bad way, it just turns me on even more.

Gerard’s got his other hand on my thigh running circles across my flesh, which would tickle under a different circumstance. It’s just soothing to have his hand there rubbing my skin like it’s all he ever wants to do.

It doesn’t make sense for any of this to be soft or sweet because this is neither, but those are the words that come to mind.

“G-ger-gee, oh god,” I say and that’s it for me. I’m cumming before I can even find the words to warn him. My eyesight and everything around me turns a strange shade of red, like a filter has been put in place. There’s just nothing in the world that could ruin this moment, because I can’t even fathom the sensation myself.

For a long couple of minutes I forget about Mikey’s existence only a hallway apart from us, and I hope to god that these walls are thicker then they look. Or maybe Mikey’s a heavy sleeper. Whatever the case, I’m pretty sure a deaf person could’ve heard that moan. I don’t really care though, that was fucking amazing.

I don’t even know if the effects of my orgasm are wearing off, because I’ve just literally never had one that forceful. I can’t open my eyes or do anything, and my toes have curled up like an armadillo.

Gerard grabs my hand in his own and holds it softly like he thinks I’ll break, but not in a demeaning way. This is just Gerard being himself, which makes me love him a million times more, which is not even possible.

I want to do everything to him. The things I am going to do to him when I recover are so dirty that you would need a fucking pressure washer to clean up my filthy mind.

“You make the most gorgeous faces,” Gerard says and I blush, not even wanting to think about how stupid I probably look.

“You are, _wow_ ,” I start but my words are sounding slurred, and I just can’t stop feeling gleeful. “Do not ever let anyone tell you that you don’t give good head. You, sir, are very talented.”

Gerard snorts out laughter at my paralysis like state.

“I know, right? I’m a fucking dork,” I say after reading his expression, and he nods beaming at me.

I can’t help but think about him though, in a sexual way, but he’s on top of that before I even have a chance to ask.

He takes my hand and places it on his crotch, “Oh god, feel how fucking hard you make me, Frankie?”

I’m still vagrantly intoxicated from the aftermath and all I can do is giggle tiredly, “You can take care of that, I won’t mind. I’d actually quite like to watch.”

“You are so naughty,” he teases.

“You honestly have no idea,” I warn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man this had better be good because I, an asexual, had to look through _porn_ blogs. It is a good thing that I am not easily scarred.


	43. I Don't Love You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was honestly so hard to write.

“Did you two have fun fucking each other’s brains out? I hope you realize that there was only a hallway between us, and you may’ve permanently scarred me,” Mikey says as soon as we walk down into the kitchen.

“I knew he was going to hear,” I whisper to myself.

“Let’s pretend I don’t know that you had sex with my brother, okay?” Mikey says.

“You brought it up,” Gerard shrugs.

“So... what do we do now?” Mikey asks. That is a very good question with so many different meanings.

“What do you mean?” Gerard questions.

“Well we’re here, in the middle of nowhere. We’re running away from a guy who’s going to become a senator. All we’re doing is just lounging out. Is that it? Is that our life now? What about Frank and I’s jobs? Friends? Life?”

“Well you weren’t going to have a life if you stayed, Mikes,” Gerard says.

“No, I know that. That’s not my question. My question is what now?”

I don’t know what to say. I’m focusing on getting better and being as near to Gerard as I can get. It’s a little awkward with Mikey right there all the time, but Gerard and I have been through a lot more shit then a pesky sibling.

“God, I wish I didn’t drag you both into this,” Gerard says and he collapses his head onto the kitchen counter.

“You know this isn’t your fault though, Gerard,” I say.

“No? Who does Banks want dead enough that he’s willing to kill everyone who gets in his way? That includes his own partners. He’s ruthless, and he’s coming after _me_ , but he’s going to take everyone down with me.”

“Gerard, really, it is not your fault,” Mikey says.

“You’re my brother Mikey. I don’t want to see you dead, but it’s because of me that someone else wants to see you dead,” Gerard says making harsh eye contact with him then he looks to me, “and you Frank. If I had just never met you...”

I’m starting to get a little annoyed with the way Gerard keeps saying things like that. I love him, and that’s not a _choice_ I made. Why on earth would I have decided to fall in love with someone that I was meant to kill? I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with him, but I did, and he actually thinks I actively decided to? I did not mean for this to go as far as it did with him, but this is my life now.

“That’s bullshit Gerard. If you’d never met me you’d be dead right now,” I say, a little angrily, but I don’t mean to.

“Yeah, he’s right Gerard. You’d have died at that charity dinner if it weren’t for Frank,” Mikey says and I’d almost forgotten that he doesn’t even know. He’s so clueless as to what’s really going on.

Mikey sees this as a former boss of Gerard’s getting mad for him basing a comic book character after him. Mikey sees me as the guy who wrote an article on Gerard and accidentally fell in love with the subject. Mikey sees this as Gerard bringing his boyfriend to a safe house. He doesn’t know anything.

“You just don’t get it though,” Gerard says, looking at me sternly, “no matter what you say, and no matter how you try to swing this, it’s my actions that led to this.”

“You’re not the one who hired the assass-”

“That’s not the point! I did something that was worth hiring assassins over!” Gerard’s starting to raise his voice and I definitely do not like the way it feels on him.

“You made a mistake, Gerard. It doesn’t merit an army of murderers,” I say.

“It doesn’t matter what I did, it’s the fact that it was me that did it. If I hadn’t been such a fucking idiot, then neither of you would be in danger right now, and it would be so much better.”

“Well if you hadn’t then you’d have never met me,” I say. It’s inconsiderate the way he’s disregarding my feelings on the matter. I don’t think it’s his fault, but he’s not listening!

“But that would be so much better!” Gerard says loudly, and it’s like a blow to the face.

“Oh so meeting me, isn’t worth all of this?” I ask, shaking.

Gerard’s eyes widen, “no, that’s not what I meant.”

“Yes it is, it’s exactly what you meant. You think I can’t take this? You think I’d wish, for one second, that I’d rather never having met you? Of course I wouldn’t want that, Gerard! I’ve been through fucking hell, but it’s worth it because I got to have you, but apparently you don’t feel the same way back.”

“Frank-“

“Because you’d rather be dead without ever getting to meet me, because I don’t matter enough to you! Everything would be so much better _if only you hadn’t met me_.”

“That’s completely out of context!” Gerard yells, defensively.

“Oh yeah? You’ve been saying that over and over. You wish you hadn’t met me, so that you’d never have put me in danger, and you’re making it seem like I don’t even have a say! If _you_ hadn’t met _me_. Did it ever occur to you that I have a say so too? I have the right to make whatever fucking decision I want, and I chose this path, Gerard. Don’t you dare tell me you wish I hadn’t because this is the decision I’ve made, and I wouldn’t change it.”

“But you’d be alive!”

“No I fucking wouldn’t! I was practically dead before I met you, Gerard. We both know that! There’s nothing, no obstacle, no roadblock, that could ever be put in place to make me stop wanting to be with you! But who am I to have that opinion, it’s only you who’s allowed to look back on decisions. I made the fucking choice to follow beside you, but you keep making it like you dragged me into it.”

I’m not aware of Mikey having backed away and out of the kitchen until I see him running up the stairs two at a time, leaving me and Gerard fuming at each other in the kitchen. It’s just as well, it’s Gerard who’s being an idiot here, not him.

“Right, so I’m the bad guy for wishing you weren’t in danger? That makes a lot of sense,” Gerard spits sarcastically.

“You have every right to think that, but what you don’t have the right to do is spin the scenario like it’s only you who’s had to make tough decisions.”

“I’m not the one who made the stupid decision to stay with a dead man though, Frank!” He screams.

“So now I’m stupid?” I ask in a cold whisper.

“What?” He says, and then he leans back, crossing his arms. “Uh, yes. I mean, you could have walked away. Could’ve... but you didn’t! You put yourself in a place where the only thing that could come from it was danger.”

There’s warning in my voice when I say, “We all do stupid things for love, Gerard.”

“You passed stupid a long time ago. Stupid is leaving your backpack at the park. Stupid is brushing your teeth before eating breakfast. Stupid is not gambling with your own life. That’s just, ugh, why would you do that?”

“I’m sorry, next time I’ll think twice about saving someone’s life. Yours especially. Next time I’ll think twice about following what makes me happy. I’d have been so miserable if I’d just left, Gerard. You’d have been too. And you’re making me out to seem like I jumped to that answer! It took me _weeks_ to decide I wanted to be with you, Gerard. Weeks of weighing out the good and the bad. Your own fucking brother told me to go for it with you, Gerard.”

“But you’re stupid enough to have gotten yourself wrapped into this, Frank! This should’ve been my weight to bear, but you came in and ruined your future as well,” Gerard exasperates.

“Yeah, but I was already in it too deep, Gerard. What did you want me to do, just walk away, and pretend I never knew you? It’s too late for that now!”

“But you didn’t have to put your life in fucking danger! Not for me!” Gerard says.

“It was already too late! I already loved you Gerard, it’s not like I can just back out now. This is happening, and there’s nothing we can do about it,” I say.

“Don’t say that! You can still get out, just walk away, and not look back. I won’t be mad, that would actually be the best thing you could possibly do-”

“Hold on, are you saying you want me to leave? You want me to go? Not only would it not hurt you, it would make you _happy_? For me to _leave_? So basically you don’t even love me at all,” I summarize.

“No, that’s not it,” Gerard says looking disgruntled.

“Oh yeah? Telling me to go away, because I’m too stupid to be with you, that’s not what it sounds like, is it?”

“Wait, Frank-”

“No! No, I get it. You never liked me. I’ve been imagining this whole thing, I guess. You could never be with someone so stupid, could you? That’s all I am, isn’t it? Just this stupid guy who was stupid enough to fall in love with you, and stupid enough to get an X on his back, and the most stupid thing of all, I’m stupid enough to think someone like you could ever fall for me. You’re right. I am stupid,” I say, and I don’t even know how to feel. I feel like I’ve been stabbed through the heart or something. Of course Gerard doesn’t love me. How could he possibly love me? I’m an assassin. I’m just an idiot that no one could ever love.

I have been shot in my life. I’ve had a 9mm bullet pierce my skin, graze my vital organs, and I have felt the blood pouring out of me like a waterfall. I have had hospital utensils pulling at the wreckage of blood and a spent bullet still in my body. I have spent hours in a secluded room, struggling with my life, and I have died on an operating table. I have woken up connected to a machine that held my whole life in such a delicate balance, and seen the person I love the most crying over my practically dead body. I have seen the dark that follows life, and yet _this_ is the most agonizing thing that’s ever happened to me. Seeing Gerard looking at me furiously, hearing him say these awful things, this is what really kills me.

I have been shot in my life, but this is what really hurts.

“Frank, no!” Gerard pleads, but it’s too late, I’ve already gotten the message.

“It’s fine, Gerard. You want me out of your life, fine. If that’s what you want, I’ll go,” I say and I turn around to the door and walk into the entryway.

“Frank, where are you going?” Gerard asks, following behind me.

“It’s obvious that neither one of us wants me here. Mikey doesn’t want me here either, so I’m just going to leave,” I tell him, opening the front door.

“What are you going to do, walk back to New York?”

“Well I can’t really do that now, can I, Gerard? You ruined whatever life I could’ve had in New York, so I have to go somewhere else.”

“Oh, so you’re going to blame me for that?” Gerard asks, as I step out into the muggy weather outside.

“Why not? You told me to blame you. You said it was your fault that I’m in danger, and I finally get it. You’re right. You are absolutely _right_. It is all your fault. I would be safe if it weren’t for you and you’re sick twisted games.”

“Games? You think this is a game for me? That... that I don’t love you?” Gerard asks, sounding hurt.

“Can you blame me, when it’s the truth?” I ask, turning around. He’s standing about fifteen feet away, looking dead in his tracks.

“So I suppose taking you out here with me, to keep you safe, that was because I don’t love you?”

“Guilt, just like everything else you’ve ever shown for me. Just guilt. Why would you tell me I’m a stupid idiot for falling for you if you actually did love me?” I exasperate.

“Alright fine then,” his voice croaks, sounding awful, “Fine then. I don’t love you, because that’s what you think. Go, Frank! I don’t care, do I? After all I don’t love you, so just go, and I’m not going to try to stop you.”

“Fine,” I say turning to leave.

“Fine,” Gerard calls back, but I ignore him, and keep walking. I don’t know where I’m going, just away. I don’t look back, but I feel my heart practically exploding in my chest.

 _Obviously_ I love Gerard. I want to go back, and just tell him that, but he said it himself. He doesn’t love me.

That’s why I don’t turn back. That’s why I keep walking, and I don’t even focus on where I’m going. I’m walking along the side of the road, but after a while I start to realize I’ve taken a bunch of turns and I haven’t a clue where I am.

I want Gerard to love me the way I love him. I want him so much that it hurts being away from him after what just happened.

Now the only thing I can do is walk forward, trying to get myself from balling here on the side of the street like I sorely want to.

I’m not that strong though. I give in after half an hour, and I collapse onto the ground. I feel the whole world collapsing around me. Every last good thing that has ever been in the world, is dead now.

I can’t breathe. It’s not even a question that I’ve never cried this much. I put my whole body into it. I can’t think straight, and all I see is a cascade of tears, in this empty place. I’m all alone in the middle of a goddamn forest with nothing but trees, and the emptiness of having no Gerard.

I didn’t even know it was possible to make yourself puke just by crying, but evidently it is. I’m surprised I even have anything left inside of me, because it all just feels like mush. Gerard stomped it all out, leaving me hollow. Everything is just shit around me, nothing matters.

Why did he have to blame himself? Why couldn’t he just see that I loved him? Why do I have to love him in the first place?


	44. I Fucked Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes before it get's better the darkness gets bigger.

“Yo dude, why are you walking in the middle of nowhere?” A voice asks and I turn to see a red pickup truck with two men. The car has slowed to a snails crawl in time with my steps.

Both are wearing white T-shirts, and I suspect they’ve got ratty jeans. They’re both plain looking. One of them is butch and heavy-set. The other is, the one behind the driver’s seat, coltish. The only thing that really distinguishes their boring faces apart is that one has a pervy mustache, and the other has a baseball cap.

“Just out on a stroll, in the nice... humidly disgusting weather,” I say absently. I want them to go away. I don’t want to talk. I want to mope. I want to kick myself for saying those things to Gerard, but some of them were true, so I just don’t know what to think.

“Crying?” The baseball cap guy says. The driver is the one with the mustache, and if I had to choose the uglier one I’d say it’s the mustache.

“Not crying. Just releasing an aqueous solution of liquefied particles from the ducts in my eyes,” I say feeling vexed.

“So, crying then,” the mustache says. Oh how dull, their voices are even the same. It’s not that they actually look all that alike, but you see enough of these jaunty muscled fellows who reek of chewing tobacco and they start becoming insipid.

“You could make that argument. If you’ll excuse me I’d like to get back to my ambling, so move along.”

“Well what’re you doin’ all the way out here, boy?” Oh the mustache is southern. Isn’t that wonderful.

“Please go away,” I say assertively, and I come to a halt but so does their car.

“He asked you a question,” the baseball cap says.

“I’m having a barbecue with my many friends,” I gesticulate to the trees around me, “can’t you fucking tell?”

“Why’re you cryin’?” The mustache asks.

“Because I’m really emotionally traumatized by the state of affairs in our country’s ongoing fiscal crisis!” I say, and I am so far beyond trying to be polite. I want these fuckers to get the hell away from me and drive.

“I don’t know what the hell you just said, but I know that ain’t why yous cryin’.”

“If I tell you would you please just go away?” I ask.

“We’ll consider it,” the baseball cap says.

“I had a fight with my significant other,” I say.

“Out here in the middle of nothing?” baseball cap asks.

“Well, no it was indoors at the time.”

The mustache laughs openly at me, and then spits out of his side of the truck which is, thankfully, nowhere near me. The other one just gives me this weird face that looks like an attempt at a knowing smile.

“I hear you boy, them bitches is always causing trouble,” the mustache says.

“Okay, first of all, how dare you refer to women as ‘them bitches’ in such sexist a manner? And second, ew.”

“Why’s that?” the baseball cap asks.

“Because,” I shrug. I’m not really keen about explaining my life story to a couple of annoying guys whose husky car is definitely a sign of overcompensation.

“Hold on, boy. You meaning to tell me that yous into guys?” The mustache asks, and the way that the baseball cap looks at me tells me that being gay is not something that they are okay with.

“I never said that,” I say defensively.

“Ya didn’t not say it.”

“That was a double negative, sir. You might want to consider taking a class at your local elementary school to remedy that,” I say, and even I can hear how pompous I’m sounding.

“Oh now come on,” I frown as they hop out of the car and look down at my puny little self. “I mean, I get that I’m a smartass, but isn’t it just overly cliché to mug me here? Like, seriously, could you please have a little creativity?”

The mustache doesn’t look all that amused, and I back up from him.

“How about I make a proposition. Either you two steal all my stuff and drive on off into the sunset, or you just make it quick and snap my neck now. I’m not in the mood to get beaten up, I got shot less than a month ago, I’m still sore,” I say monotonously.

“Oh yeah? You got shot?” the baseball cap asks, “Prove it.”

“Well alright, but be warned, I have to take my shirt off, so if either of you gets deeply excited by male nipples you might want to look away now,” I say. They don’t really seem to like my sense of humor. I get that. It’s pretty out there.

“No, seriously, if you’re going to kill me, get it over with. Actually, would you?” I ask, and then hear how hopeless and awful I sound. “Would you just kill me so that I don’t have to go through this anymore? It’s really bumming me out, and everything would all just be so much easier. Maybe he’ll love me when I’m dead. Well, a boy can dream, can’t he?”

The two men bearing down on me look absolutely disgusted with me and my attitude, and don’t make any moves to do anything. If I weren’t sore I could run away, but they have a car, and I don’t feel like it. They might be my ticket out of this hell. I’m so fucking sick of being a wanted man, and now I don’t even have Gerard to cling to, so what’s the goddamn point?

“Nah, we ain’t gonna kill ya,” the mustache says.

“But I’ll have your wallet, phone, and shoes,” he says.

“Why shoes, isn’t that a bit odd?” I ask.

“I like ‘em,” he says with a shrug.

“Well, have at them then,” I say stepping out of one and then the other. “Please just do away with me or don’t hurt me though. Don’t make it worse?”

“Show me the bullet hole. I’ve never seen one before,” the baseball cap says.

“Well alright,” I say, and I pull my shirt over my head tediously, because I’m too spent to care anymore.

“Sick,” the guy says, in the slang use of the word.

“How’d you get that?” the mustache asks.

“I brought a comic book artist to a gun fight,” I tell him. I have to say, as far as muggers go, these guys are much friendlier then they could be.

About a minute later I find myself lying on the ground, wallet-less and phone-less, but the only person I ever called on that phone was Gerard anyway, and now I wouldn’t call him if I had a phone.

I fucked up, what can I say? They took my shirt, because apparently they are both fans of Iron Maiden. I mean, they may have mugged me, but at least they had good taste in music.

At least they didn’t really hurt me, just punched me in the face and then the mustache stepped right on my chest, right where it hurts. It wasn’t too bad, all things considering, but I can’t stand up, and I feel like my shoulder is exploding. I don’t have any goddamn painkillers because I left them at the goddamn house. I’m not even sure if I can stand up because the pain is screaming like I’ve been shot all over again.

I kind of wish it had been worse though, enough to have taken me out of my misery. I would go lay down in the middle of the street, but part of me is too scared of how that would make the next driver feel. If I were to lie down in the middle of the street for someone to drive over, then I may ruin their life with guilt or something, and I don’t want that. I don’t know what I want. I want to have my phone back, but I have no one to call.

It’s starting to get late, the sun is setting and the air smells like oncoming rain. The gravel under my bare back is starting to chafe against my skin, and I’m tired. I want to... I don’t even know.

I can’t stop thinking of how I’d have been able to handle those men if the situation was different. I could’ve ambushed them when they tried to take me down, and stolen their car. If it weren’t for this fucking bullet hole.

I’d have been able to stop them and really take them down had I not been shot not too long ago. It’s still hard to do much of anything so I just had to let them take my damn stuff, and it was whatever.

I can’t find the room to really care. I only had a couple of bucks and a maxed out credit card anyway. My library card was in there though so maybe the mustache can use that to get a book on how to speak proper English.

I don’t know what time it is, but the dark is coming in fast, and I’m going to get stuck out here at night if I don’t move. How long have I been lying on the ground anyway? An hour maybe.

I groan, and then pull myself up into a sitting position.

“Ow,” I mope as the stinging in my shoulder strengthens. At least it’s not bleeding.

I have to find a town or something, and I can work out what to do from there. I feel miserable, true, but thinking on it with a clearer head, I’m not going to kill myself over Gerard. I was fine with it if someone else did it, but I’m really not the suicide type. Not over a guy, at least. How sad would that be? It’s how I feel right now, but... who am I kidding I’m not getting over him.

It’s so stupid, but if there was ever a person I could have seen a future with it was that fucking dork with his fucking hand gestures, and his fucking red hair. I love everything about him, from his stupid fucking brother who’s just really great to his cute fucking laugh that sounds like cloud nine.

He’s not here though, and he said it himself, he doesn’t love me. Who could blame him? I don’t, that’s for sure. I don’t even know if I’m mad at him, or if I’m just angry with myself for messing up so royally. I’ve just got to get up and start trekking. Keep moving forward. Walk even though there’s an endless hole inside my stomach eating away at everything.

Why does no one ever tell you that love is fucking excruciating? Even when they do warn you, they never come close to encompassing the shit that love is. The crazy thing about it is that it also feels amazing. Love is the best feeling in the world when it’s by your side, and the worst in the world when you haven’t got shit.

It takes me about five minutes to find the courage to sit up, and I’m surprised that not a single car has driven by since the two guys, but it’s not a very busy road.

I have no idea what direction the house is from here, but I don’t think I want to go back anyway. I also don’t even remember which direction I was coming from.

I’ll just find the nearest town. Might have to walk all night, but I can manage.

I just hope it doesn’t rain.

As soon as I think that the quiet is interrupted by a gigantic clap of near-deafening thunder. It’s only a matter of seconds before it starts torrentially raining over me.

“Of course,” I mutter, and I start moving my feet down the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw, who are you kidding? You know you love me.


	45. As We Have Discussed in A Different Story, Pride is For Children and Also Lions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some people are nice which is great!

I don’t come across a town until well after the rain has _really_ started pouring down. It’s very late, and this is a small town, by the looks of it. I can’t even read the sign at the entrance of the town because the rain is so thick.

I walk forward and look for some sort of guiding light. The town is pretty tiny and I see almost no buildings, but there’s at least many more then I’ve seen in many hours.

I see blissful civilization a bit far away in the form of a diner. I hope it’s an all-night diner, but the fact that it’s lighting up, with a blinking ‘open’ sign in the window is a good signal.

I make a slow stride over to the diner, wanting nothing more than to be warm or have something warm to drink. I hit myself because I remember that I have no money.

This is just great.

I get there in a few minutes, but it takes a very long time because I’m so exhausted. My arm is killing me, my feet are too, and my heart is screaming out for Gerard. Also I’m freezing from the rain, and I don’t have a shirt or shoes. It looks like I had a really bad day out at the beach, considering my attire.

The minute I step into the small restaurant I’m greeted with a welcoming feeling of warm air. It smells like coffee and the heat is absolutely amazing. There’s also a dripping sound and I realize that that’s me.

I look up and around to see who else is here. There’s a man sitting at the far end of the diner staring at me and a woman by the counter who looks extremely surprised at my entrance.

She’s an older woman, late forties to early fifties. Kind-faced with laugh lines, and a little on the heavy side. She’s leaning against the counter when she looks up to me.

I must look a wreck. Dripping everywhere, tired, wounded. I’m glad I don’t have to see myself right now.

“Good gracious, dear. What happened to you?” the woman asks, and her slouch turns into a quick vigilant one.

“Hm? Oh, right, yeah. Got mugged a little ways down the road,” I say carelessly, and I shake my head like a dog to make some of the water go away.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” she asks and walks over to me.

“Nah fine. Just took my stuff. Didn’t hurt me too much,” I say.

“Oh dear, you’ve been shot!” She says, and I look down.

I shrug, “No that’s weeks old.”

“Oh god, do you need something? I’ll get you something warm, hold on dear,” she says, but I gesture for her not to worry.

“No, thanks. I just needed some warmth. I don’t have any money anyway,” I say.

“Nonsense, I’ll get you a coffee,” she says and then points to the nearest booth. I think she’s telling me to sit down, and I am way too tired to refuse.

I collapse onto the booth, but I let my legs hang off the side so that I’m not actually sitting at the table.

“Please, its fine, I don’t need... I just wanted to rest a minute.”

She chides, “Sorry dear, but you need something warm. You’ll catch the flu in your state.”

She’s definitely not wrong about that. I always get sick, it’s a little insane. I almost forgot that, and it makes me regret my near future of sneezing and watery eyes.

The lady comes back a moment later with a frayed white mug that’s steaming tantalizingly. I honestly want to say no to it, but I shiver a second later and more water drips from my body, so she puts it down at the table beside me.

“It’s decaf. I think we have some blankets in the back,” she says after I grab the mug thankfully. I don’t even take a sip at first because I want to feel the heat spread through my hands.

“Oh god no, I’m already taking advantage of your hospitality,” I say, but she waves her hand, and walks behind the counter, and then through the hanging door that leads to the other side of the restaurant.

The man on the other side is eyeing me curiously. He doesn’t look exactly unfriendly, but I don’t like being examined like that. I check the clock above the cash register to see that it’s nearly one in the morning. How did it get to be so late?

I like this woman, she’s nice. She comes back a minute later with a folded mass of grey fabric, that I assume is some sort of blanket.

I don’t protest when she hands it to me even though I feel a little guilty. It’s kind of weird, when you hang out with asshats a lot, to remember that some people are nice. I’m not saying Gerard or Mikey are asshats, but I really like people who are just honestly good people.

“Thank you,” I say and I give her a smile, but I’m trembling so it turns to more of a grimace, “you know you don’t need to be this nice, I’m just, I don’t even know.”

“You looked like you could use some help dear, I’m just doing my best. Do you have someone you can call? I’ll let you use my phone,” she asks.

“No, unfortunately. The only person who I could call wouldn’t want to hear from me.”

“Oh, don’t say that. You should call whoever you need to come and get you. If you don’t have any money there’s not much you can do from here. Just call them.”

“We had a bit of a falling out. Doesn’t want to hear from me, trust me. Doesn’t even love me. Never did,” I say sadly. The words hurt me to say, because they’re true. I never thought I’d be able to say that I didn’t want to talk to Gerard. He’s the one I want to talk to the most.

“Give her a call, I’m sure she’ll come ‘round,” the woman tells me, “And you need help. No one could turn down that face of yours.”

I frown, and don’t bother to correct the waitress for assuming. The last time I let that slip didn’t have the happiest of endings.

“No, I left the house because, you know, said I didn’t mean anything. Never loved me. Just felt guilty for all the crap that’s happened. Sucks though. Took a bullet to keep ‘em breathing.”

“Aw dearie,” the waitress frowns, “you really took a bullet for her?”

“Yeah. I’ve never loved someone so much. It was so good as well! We were so good, until we just blew up at each other. This morning, even! This morning we were just as happy as two people could be. Or at least _I_ was. I mean I woke up, and everything was perfect, and then boom,” I say. I feel like such an idiot, spewing about Gerard to this lady. She doesn’t care, I’m sure. I just want to think about him.

I honestly thought we were happy. I really did. I thought he loved me. I thought he was maybe even _the one_. I want him so much that it hurts.

“Dear, you should call her. You should apologize,” she says.

“I didn’t do anything wrong! I don’t think either of us did really, we just sort of got mad at the choices we’ve both made. Like I should’ve left, and I didn’t. ‘Cause, you know, I was in love. Still am. I couldn’t just leave when I was in love. I knew it was dangerous to stay, but I just... I’ve never been in love before.”

“Well you should apologize anyway. Sometimes we have to suck in our pride and just do things we don’t want to do. Take it from me, all women like being apologized to.”

I snort, “Yeah, well that may not do me much good.”

“Do you need anything? Another blanket? More tea? I’ll get you my phone, dear,” she says and she stands up to go grab it.

“No, please, you don’t need to do that. I’ve already taken a free drink, I didn’t mean to do that. I’m, ugh, I don’t want to call! I’m scared.”

“You’ll do fine,” she says and she comes back to me with her phone. She holds it out to me expectantly and I don’t take it immediately.

She frowns and tries again, “Come on, please? I don’t want to see you looking so miserable. You need someone who’s going to care for you. There’s only so much I can do.”

“Ugh, I’ll think about it,” I say. The waitress smiles and grabs the seat from the table that’s next to the booth I’m habituating. She then sets the phone on the table next to me, where I stare at it for a long moment.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.

“I really don’t,” I say honestly.

“That’s fine. Just take your time thinking about it. I really think you should call someone though, dear.”

“I, fine. Sure, I’ll just suck in my pride I guess,” I say.

She nods, looking happy with my decision. I’m not too sure myself, but I know I can’t just mooch here forever. I’ve got to call someone or else I don’t have anywhere to go. I just really don’t want to call Gerard.

I pick up the phone and feel the weight of it in my hands. I don’t want to call him, but at the same time I really do.

“Do you want me to call for you?” she asks, sympathetically.

“No, I should do this myself. Can I do this privately?” I say.

“Sure sure,” she says, “but you’re not going outside in this weather.”

“But...”

“I know it’s not ideal, but you can use our freezer. It’s cold in there, but take your blanket and try not to talk for too long so you don’t get too cold.”

“Fine, yeah, thank you so much for being nice,” I say.

“Anytime dear,” she says and she waits for me to stand up then guides me to the back of the diner where there’s a small metal door.

“There’s no lock on either side of the door so I’ll just leave you to it, okay? You can talk for as long as you need to, but be careful that you don’t freeze in there, okay?”

I check the door to confirm that she’s telling the truth, though I didn’t really think she’d lie. Part of me really just doesn’t want to get locked in a freezer. Well, most of me.

I nod, and frown grimly, then step into the small cold room.

I remember his number of course. The day he gave it to me I looked down at the phone for hours just memorizing the digits. Over and over in my head I looked at those numbers and I thought about the person they belonged to.

Man, it is cold in here. There are boxes of food all around me, and I know that I have to do this quickly, but I just can’t find the courage to dial the number. I can’t put the numbers in, but I want. I also really don’t want to.

“Fuck. I can’t call him,” I frown and then my head falls back on the door. I just can’t call Gerard.

I’m angry at him, and in love with him, and I miss him. I just have so many feelings that are flooding all through me that they’re distorting my options. I really only have that one option. Gerard.

I then realize that there is another option. Mikey. I’m not sure it’s much better, but at least it won’t be Gerard. At least I don’t have to talk to Gerard. What if he’s mad at me too, because of Gerard’s and I’s argument?

I remember that number as well. I don’t know why I do, but I’m glad that it’s still engraved somewhere in my brain.

I press the numbers slowly, one at a time, and then look down at the screen for an even longer amount of time, trying to bring my thumb down to the green ‘call’ button.

I can’t call Mikey, but I have to. Fuck, I just have to call and it’ll suck, but it’s the only option left. I put myself into this mess, and it’s time to own up to it.

Sometimes we all need a little help.

I take a deep breath and press the button, then bring the phone up to my ear. It rings once, twice, three times. He picks up during the middle of the third ring.

I inhale loudly and say, “Mikey, hey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man this story is almost twice as long as A Case of Unknown Identity. Can you believe that? Wow, thanks to the people who’ve read both and support me, and thanks to the people who _haven’t_ read both and support me.


	46. It Was Like A Time Bomb Set Into Motion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We knew that we were destined to explode.

“Frank?” Mikey asks.

“Yep,” I reply.

“What the hell dude!” Mikey says, “I mean no offense, but fucking hell, why did you, just... hold on, give me a second, gotta breathe.”

“You okay? Are you mad at me?”

“Not _mad_ at you. Mostly mad at Gerard. Kind of mad at you as well though. Why aren’t you answering your phone?”

“Oh, I kind of got mugged,” I say.

“You got what?” Mikey says exasperatedly, “you could’ve opened with that you know. ‘Hey Mikey, sorry I wasn’t picking up my phone because I was fucking mugged,’ would have been nice.”

“Okay, I’ll start over. Hey Mikey, sorry I wasn’t picking up my phone because I was fucking mugged,” I say.

“You’re a snarky little bastard aren’t you?” Mikey says.

“A little. The point is that I was mugged, and I’m at a diner, this lady gave me her phone and I didn’t know who to call. Mikey, I don’t have any money, or shoes, I think I’m getting a cold, but that might just be because I’m standing in a freezer, and I need painkillers like nobody’s business.”

“Why are you in a freezer?” Mikey asks.

“Ugh, it’s raining out and the waitress who lent me her phone didn’t want me to go out in the rain. I’m cold, so let’s hurry this along.”

“Frank,” Mikey groans, “you got yourself into a giant pile of shit, you know that?”

I frown even though he can’t see, “you think I could’ve overlooked that? It’s been a miserable day.”

“Aren’t you going to ask about Gerard?”

“I don’t want to know. I just... I don’t know.”

Mikey makes an irritated sound then says, “Frank, Gerard’s-”

“No, I don’t care. I do not care. I don’t wanna know,” I say sternly. I’m not sure why I said that though, because I want to know precisely what’s up with Gerard, but I’m way too afraid to ask. He’s probably happy that I’m gone or something. He doesn’t want me back. It still kills me, because I should have known

“Wow, fine. Whatever. Thought you loved him,” Mikey says.

“Are you kidding? Of course I fucking love him! Why would I have been so hurt if I didn’t love him?”

“Never mind. So what do you want me to do? Where are you?”

“This little diner. Would you, uh, god I don’t want to be so helpless that I have to ask you to come get me, but I need some help. I don’t know what else I can do. Or who else I can call. I don’t know that many people, Mikey and all the people I do know are much further away. There’s nothing out here for someone with no money, and I think my feet are going to fall off because they’re covered in blisters, and it’s just miserable outside.”

Mikey replies quickly so that I don’t keep talking and says, “Okay okay. Got it. I’ll get Gerard and we’ll come pick you up.”

“No! Absolutely not. If Gerard’s there, I will not get in his car under any circumstances. Not if you paid me, not if you were there, not if I were being chased by a Balrog, and not if he coaxes me in with candy! No.”

“Oh come on, Frank. You love him, we both know that. He knows that, I know that, you know that, Banks even knows that.”

“But _he_ doesn’t love _me_!” I say.

“Of course he loves you! He just said that because he wanted to piss you off. He loves you way more than you know, Frank.”

“You’re lying,” I say, “he never did.”

“You are so much stupider then I ever gave you credit for Frank. Gerard absolutely adores you. I don’t get it, I think you’re kind of an idiot myself, but I’ve never really understood my brother so I’m not going to star questioning him now.”

“But-”

“He said what he thought would piss you off the most,” Mikey repeats, “That’s kind of the point of getting into an argument, isn’t it? You want the other person to feel bad about themselves so you can win. Neither of you fucking won, Gerard’s a wreck! He’s been crying since about five minutes after you left.”

My heart lurches a little bit at that, “he... he has?”

“Duh! You left and he was all angry and then he just started crying and I don’t know how to make him fucking stop. The last time he cried this much was when he finished that John Green book, only this is worse.”

“Why did he say that he hated me?” I ask, feeling my own voice croak into barely a whisper.

“I explained that already, you twat. He was angry. We all do stupid things when we are angry. Gerard goes a little overboard when he has any strong emotions about anything, but surely you’ve noticed that.”

“It’s not like you can just tell me that and I’ll believe it! He said it to my face, Mikey. He said he didn’t love me, he called me stupid, and he told me that he wanted me gone so I left! How am I supposed to handle something like that? He said it, Mikes, he said it!”

“Frank, calm down, I was just trying to... god! Fine, I’ll come alone. I’ll get the car and I’ll pick you up on my own. Where are you exactly?”

I give him the best directions I can, but he seems to get the gist and promises he’ll be here soon. I tell him to bring a shirt and money so that I can tip the nice waitress.

After that he’s gone though, and I’m not looking forward to the rush of embarrassment that I’m about to get from having to face the fact that I called Gerard’s fucking brother to come rescue with me.

I don’t know about Gerard though. Part of me is inclined to believe Mikey that he was just really mad, but every part of me hoping that’s true is also frowning at the thought, because it’s what I’m _hoping_ for. I hope it’s true which is making it easier to believe.

Still though, he said I love you first. He was a virgin when we met, I’m positive of that, and now he’s not. He did bring me all the way up here to keep me safe. What does that say?

The evidence would lean in Mikey’s favor, but I can’t help but feel like I’m getting my hopes up. I need to hear it from Gerard nonetheless, but I don’t think I _want_ to see Gerard. Obviously I want to see him, but I really don’t at the same time, so I don’t know what to think.

I step out of the cold room a minute later and let a shiver run through me unrestrainedly. Who’d have thought that freezers are cold? I’m a fucking genius.

“Did you get ahold of someone, dear?” The waitress asks.

“Yeah, someone’s going to pick me up. Thanks so much for being nice, it’s really great,” I say.

“No problem at all,” she says with a smile, and I return to my seat on the booth to wait for Mikey. “You okay?”

“I don’t know. I guess as best as I can be given my current situation. I’m just afraid that my feelings aren’t reciprocated, you know? Everyone’s afraid of rejection I guess, but I’ve sacrificed literally everything in my life for this relationship, and what if... what if I’m just imagining everything?”

“How long have you two known each other?” the waitress asks.

“Barely any time at all. Just over three months, but it’s been the best three months of my life, which is weird because more crap has happened to me in the last three years then the entire span of my life, but I guess when we’re together it doesn’t feel as bad, you know? It’s all happened so fast though! Like it had to, because we’ve been on a time bomb, right? I guess the whole time we’ve known each other has just been trying to defuse that time bomb, but every step we take to get nearer to it the more obstacles are put in our way. It seems like every progress we make, the further we divagate backwards.”

“I’m sorry, dear. It seems like life has a system where all the good things are also the hardest to hold onto.”

“Slipperiest as well. You can grab a hold of it, but it just slips away when you’re not looking. Even if you give your full appreciation, things still find a way of walking out.”

“So what’s your girl’s name?” The waitress asks, and I have to think for a long moment, debating whether to just come clean about Gerard’s lack of a vagina.

“Gee,” I tell her, “and I’m Frank.”

“Well Frank, I’m sure she’ll see how much she has with you,” the waitress says. “She’ll come around.”

I nod, but I don’t feel too hopeful. I’ll learn what’s going to happen with time, but I’m scared that I’m not going to like it.

“I hope you’re right,” I sigh.

I don’t know how far away Mikey is, but I expect it’ll take him at least over an hour to get here. Now I just have to wait and try to compose the right words to say to Gerard the next time I see him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snuck that TFioS reference in there like the cheeky bastard I am.


	47. Giant Fluffy Mass of Fluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damn, look at all that fluff.

I definitely fell asleep because when I wake up I hear the sound of a door opening, and the chime above the door. It’s drizzling so that’s a lot less raucous than the earlier rain.

I’m tired and I blink my eyes a few times to see whoever is standing there, and that’s when I’m blinking up to see a very attractive red head looking around the diner frantically. He’s been crying. A lot. His eyes are bloodshot, and the bags under them are massive, but he is still so goddamn attractive.

“Frank?” Gerard asks the entire room, and I think for a moment that I should just hide under the table and pretend I’m not here, but now he’s got everyone’s attention. There’s two different people in here then when I fell asleep, but the other man is gone, and they’re looking from Gerard to the guy lying down on the booth. The back of the booth is hiding me pretty well so Gerard doesn’t notice me.

Instead I groan and his head darts immediately to me where he’s standing only a few feet away, “Gerard, what’re you doing here? I told Mikey I didn’t-”

Gerard’s eyes beat into me quickly and he steps in front of the booth, without wavering our eye contact. Mine’s a little hazy from just waking up, and I also feel pretty angry. I think I’m angry at him, but I could just as easily be angry at myself for speaking out.

“I had to come instead!” he says.

“I’m going to kill that damn toothpick,” I whisper.

“Frank, I had to come! Mikey knew that and it’s because I made a huge mistake! I had to come get you, I couldn’t let Mikey... I just made the biggest mistake of my life, and I had to tell you this myself,” Gerard says, and he kneels down on the floor next to the booth that I’m sprawled out upon. I look around to see that the sky is a calmer shade of bluish grey and the same waitress is looking at me, a little surprised, but not angrily.

“And what’s that then?” I say, and I pull myself upward. My body is stiff, especially my neck, because these booths are not made for sleeping. There’s only two other patrons, but both are looking at the weird guy who fell asleep at a diner, and the insanely hot redhead he’s taking to.

“You name it,” Gerard says, and he gulps, then looks down at his hands, “I was being selfish. Thinking about myself and not you. I just didn’t think about how tough this has all been on you. Which is stupid, because, I mean you got _shot_ and everything, but I didn’t even... I should’ve tried to look at this from you’re point of view.

“And then there’s the fact that I let you go. I shouldn’t have let you leave. That was so stupid of me. I should’ve followed you, or driven behind you to make sure you were okay. I shouldn’t have let you leave the house, and I’m so sorry.”

“I didn’t want to be around you,” I say. I really didn’t though. When he told me to go away I wanted to be away from him so that I didn’t have to deal with all the shit running through my mind. I was mad, and scared, and nervous, and sad, and hopeful, all combining to make a potent as hell cocktail. If I hadn’t left, who knows what I might have said that I’d come to regret even more than the things I regret now. It’s strange but leaving was probably the best thing I could’ve done. Actually it would have been smarter if I’d just gone upstairs, but it’s too late to take it back now.

Gerard frowns for a moment before pointing out my choice of past tense, “You said ‘didn’t.’”

“Keep going and I’ll tell you if that’s still true,” I say, shortly.

“Frankie,” Gerard says and he puts his hands on the booth, and I see his eyes trembling. “I shouldn’t have told you I don’t love you. I was just angry, and you asked me if I did, and I was... I was mad! I wanted to hurt you, because I- I, but it was wrong of me. I was lying through my teeth. God, I do love you, Frankie. I mean, I was the one who said that first anyway, and I guess what really hurt, was your willingness to believe it wasn’t real. I love you so much, I don’t know, I should never have... god! If there’s one thing that I wish I could take back from that argument, it’s that I said I don’t love you.”

“You do?” I ask in a weak voice.

“Of course I do! How could you possibly think that I don’t? You’re so fucking, ugh,” he groans for a moment, “you’re so aggravating because you just don’t see how wonderful you are! Yes, Frankie, I love you with the force of a million and one worlds, and there’s nothing you can do that would make me stop loving you. Clearly, that’s true, looking at our recent history.”

I chuckle. Yeah, we’ve been through some crap. Like me trying to kill him. How did I overlook that? Obviously he loves me if he was willing to stay with me after I literally tried to kill him. Twice.

“But you were so angry and I was so angry and you asked me if it was true that I didn’t love you, so I just said yes. I didn’t think you’d believe me, because it’s so obvious that I do, but you did, and then you were gone. I didn’t have any time to take it back, because you’d already left, and then I cooled down and I realized what I had done, and it killed me,” Gerard explains without taking any breaths so he’s likely to turn purple.

“It hurt me too,” I admit.

“Well that’s good though, right? It means that we mean something to each other, and I just hate that we have to live with what was said, but I’d rather pretend that it never happened then pretend that _we_ never happened.”

“I agree. I shouldn’t let you take all the blame though. I messed up too. I was trying to make it about me when it was about us, and I’m... I’m sorry for walking out like that. It was childish of me, and I regret that,” I say, taking the waitress’ advice. I should apologize too after Gerard laid himself out for me like that.

“It’s okay, you were mad,” Gerard says with a faint smile as he looks at me.

“Well yeah. I don’t know, I think I still am, but I might not be. You just, you really sounded like you meant it, okay? You told me you didn’t want me there anymore, and called me stupid, and you were completely disregarding my feelings. I know it’s been hard on you, believe me, I _know_ that, but did it ever occur to you that it would hurt me for you to die just as much as it would hurt you for me to die?”

Gerard lets his head hang sadly, “no, I wasn’t thinking. I told you that. I was thinking about this whole thing like it was my problem alone, and it didn’t occur to me that you had to give up all the same things. Even more than me, actually. With your job, and your shoulder.”

My hand ghosts over the scar on my shoulder and I get a flashback of what happened. It was all so quick, and painful, but Gerard was there and he was so upset. How could he have faked that? I’ve been so stupid the past few hours that it physically hurts to remember.

“How much was true though?” I ask him, and set my hands down in front of me on the booth. I think I’ve all but forgotten the other people’s existence, who are probably being weirded out by the two gay guys talking about being shot and shit.

“What?”

“How much of what you said was true?”

“I... almost none of it,” Gerard says looking at me with his big puppy dog eyes blinking behind his long lashes. “Maybe the bit about you being safer if you’d chosen not to stay with me, but I don’t think you’re stupid for that. I’m actually really thankful.”

“Couldn’t have left you,” I say, “never should’ve done it today either.”

Gerard smiles and places his hands over mine on the booth.

“So we’re good then?” Gerard asks.

I nod, a little fearfully hoping that he’s on the same level as me, “I love you, you jerk.”

He smiles widely so that I can see every one of his teeth. I only realize that we’re not even alone right now when the nice waitress, who’s sitting behind the counter tries to mouth words at me.

It takes me a minute to decipher that she’s trying to communicate ‘kiss him,’ followed by something that looks like ‘now, dummy.’

“Oh, right yeah,” I say and I grab Gerard’s chin then lean down, and honestly it feels like all the hurt goes away. It’s like taking a bath in ambrosia or something, because Gerard’s a hella good kisser. It’s not even been twenty four hours since I’ve kissed him, but the past couple have felt like a lifetime each.

“I’m still going to kill Mikey for sending you instead,” I say after a minute.

“Why? Don’t you like me?” Gerard asks with a cheeky little grin.

“Well I like you better but he didn’t listen to what I asked.”

“He’s a little shit,” Gerard nods.

“You are too,” I reply.

“Yeah, but at least I have more than one facial expression.”

“True,” I consent, “kiss me again.”

He giggles, “kay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sometimes wonder if this would get more views if I didn't update at 3 in the morning, but then I remember that I just don't care enough to change my messed up sleeping patterns.


	48. Hope That Last Chapter Was Sufficiently Fluffy Because You Will NOT Like the One After This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Ahem* Rage Against the Machine. The plot of this chapter may be based off my desire to make that joke.

To be honest I think this new life is starting to feel normal. It’s weird, it’s like living in suburbia only your neighbors are all trees, but I’m starting to like it. I get to see Gerard every morning with his stupidly attractive face and I’m even beginning to appreciate the grossed out look Mikey gives me at breakfast. I think it’s starting to feel like an actual life.

The argument had set us off into the arrival of a routine. We tip toe around it, and for the most part pretend it never happened. We both did stupid things and said stupid stuff, so it’s easiest to just let it go. In a lot of ways it makes me feel closer to Gerard.

I see more of Gerard’s character then I think I used to. It’s easier for me to accept that he loves me back the way I love him. It’s still not computing as to why on earth he would love me, but I’ll learn to live with the unknowable. If we’re going to pick the luckier one here, I’d say it’s me, because I got Gerard in this deal, and that’s a prize worthy of a king. Gerard is pretty amazing. He’s special, dorky and a giant teddy bear, but also insanely sexy. I’ve given up trying to understand how he’s so perfect, and I don’t think the answer would be nearly as interesting as the product it’s fashioned. Gerard is the closest anyone’s ever going to get to perfect and that observation is sufficient enough for my curiosity.

Almost three months of living in this place, and the house keeps transitioning from ‘a bunch of guys live here’ to ‘a bunch of guys live here but one of them is a neat freak and two of them like to piss him off by not picking up their messes occasionally’. Gerard’s the neat freak. He’s sometimes so obnoxiously gay that it physically hurts to be near him. I mean I love him, but he can be one ostentatious homosexual.

“Frank!” Gerard screams from the basement where he’s been doing laundry. He’s been predominately unsuccessful in actually being able to lift the detergent. I mean, I _can_ help with the use of my now almost good as new arm, but it’s pretty funny to go downstairs and see him standing in a sticky pool of spilled soap. The first time it was cute, the second and third time though have made me debate whether he has any upper arm muscle whatsoever.

“What?” I yell back.

“Shut up,” comes Mikey’s voice from upstairs.

“Make me, toothpick!” I yell back at Mikey.

“What?” Gerard asks.

“Not you, I was talking to Mikey!”

“What?” Mikey asks.

“Oh go away Mikey,” I yell, then decide that communicating three screaming between three floors isn’t the most efficient way to talk, so I walk over to the steps to the basement and come upon Gerard looking very confused by the old washing machine.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“I think I broke it,” he says frowning.

“Did you try kicking it?”

“What’s domestic violence of inanimate objects going to do?” Gerard asks.

“Dunno, might give it a jump start or something?” I say. I don’t know anything about anything, so I’m just spouting off the first thing that comes to my mind.

“Or you could break it more,” Gerard says.

“How? I don’t know shit about washers maybe it needs some incentive to get its butt moving,” I say.

“You’re talking about physically abusing a lifeless object,” Gerard says, “is your mental stability still intact?”

“Just give it a good kick. I don’t know?” I tell him, “Picture Banks’ face on the side.”

Gerard shrugs and then gives the machine a half-assed kick that really wouldn’t even injury baby.

“What the hell was that? You might as well ask it nicely to please start working again,” I say, and Gerard frowns like he’s reluctant to put more force into it.

“I’ll do it,” I say, trying not to laugh at him, and then I give it a pretty good whack. The machine stutters slowly and then circles into life, making me smile at Gerard stupidly.

“I fixed it!” I say proudly.

“What would I do without you?” he says mockingly.

“Probably have fewer dented appliances,” I respond.

“Mhm,” Gerard agrees, but he smiles and walks over to me anyway. He puts his arms around my neck and looks down at me with his beautiful eyes, that are a little hard to see in the dark basement, but they glimmer somehow anyway.

“Is that all you needed?” I ask, but I really like the way he’s gotten so close to me so that I can feel the air leaving his mouth. He smells like coffee but what else is new?

“Just one more thing. Do you know what tomorrow is?” Gerard asks.

“As I recall tomorrow would mark six months of knowing you,” I say.

“Yep,” he says.

“So what’re you thinking?” I ask him, biting my lip.

“I haven’t decided yet. Something special.”

“I’d agree with that,” I say, “but what?”

Gerard slouches down slightly to put his head on my shoulder, and I feel his nose tickling the side of my neck. I also get the feeling of his eyelashes blinking a few times on my skin which makes me heart flutter.

“What do normal couples do? Couples who haven’t been exiled to the middle of nowhere along with an annoying little brother.”

“Uh, dinner?” I suggest, “Sex, but I don’t think we really need an excuse for that.”

“Ugh, Mikey’s going to be here,” Gerard pulls his head back up to make a face.

“Yeah, that is unfortunate,” I say wrinkling my nose, “but we’ve never really let that get in the way before have we?”

“I’ll just tell him to watch a loud movie,” Gerard shrugs.

“So dinner?” I ask.

“Yeah we can do dinner tomorrow. Nearest fancy restaurant is an hour away though. We’ll make it work,” he says with a shrug.

“As long as you’re there it’s okay.”

“I’m really sorry that this is getting in the way of us or whatever. This whole arrangement isn’t exactly ideal, but-”

“It’s fine.”

“Good,” Gerard says and he stares at me for a long time and I can actually tell that he’s having one of those nirvana moments where he realizes how happy he is with our relationship, or more specifically, me. I get them all the time, mostly feeling my heart stumble because it starts to realize that Gerard is all I’ve ever been searching for. Now I’ve found him it makes contentment so much more accessible.

“I love you,” he whispers before pressing his forehead to mine, and I know how he feels because I am right there with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one’s shorter I didn’t want to cram it all into one chapter, so this is build up to crap going down. You guys are going to hate me after the next chapter.
> 
> Remember to prepare your bodies for shit hitting fans.


	49. It's All Downhill From Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just imagine a really fast-paced instrumental song to go along with this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything's going to go on as if nothing happened. I have to go back and italicize everything that was italicized which won't be fun, but oh well.

“Well don’t you look handsome?” Gerard says when I walk down the stairs.

“Shut up, you’re the one who looks good,” I say looking down at my attire. I did my best to dress up, but neither of us had a tux so this is the best I can get. Black pants and a dress shirt. At least it’s not skinny jeans and a hoodie. 

“You both look fucking dashing, now would you hurry up and leave? I can’t stand all this sentimentality, it makes my ears bleed,” Mikey calls from the couch.

“You’re just jealous,” Gerard calls back.

“Mhm yes, you’ve caught me. I want Frank for myself, am I that transparent?” he says sarcastically. At least I think it’s sarcastic because he’s only really got two different vocal tones. Mikey should really sit down and work on his inflection one of these days. 

“We’re leaving,” I say grabbing Gerard’s hand. He does truthfully look great, and I think he cleans up better than me anyway. The hair is kind of off-the-wall, but he still looks pretty good. Dapper. I like that word. That’s a really great word. He looks dapper.

After dragging Gerard out to the car I have trouble keeping myself still. I’m all jittery. I’ve never celebrated an anniversary before and I’ve certainly never been with someone for six months. I think my longest relationship was three weeks. Gerard is my exception. He’s the anomaly in my data. In a lot of different ways.

“Frankie, would you settle down you’re being way too cute. It can’t be healthy to be that adorable all the time,” Gerard says and I blush instinctively. 

I hope it’s not too noticeable because I don’t want him to say something that’ll make me blush more. Vacantly I check my reflection in the mirror and that’s when I notice the car behind us. 

I don’t recognize it, it’s sleek black and big, but the odd part is that it’s behind us at all. This road is always deserted. Sometimes you pass a car on the road, but there’s never two going one way at the same time. 

I brush it off as just a weird abnormality, but it doesn’t soothe my nerves at all. I can’t help but glance back at it and see that it has gotten closer. Only by a few feet, but there’s plenty of space on this road, so there’s no reason for someone to be that close. If we’re driving to slow they could just pass us, but they don’t. The car gets closer and then even closer. 

“Uh Gerard, I think that we’re, um, being followed,” I say tugging on his sleeve.

Gerard looks at me skeptically and then into the rearview mirror, “It’s just a car. That’s not exactly a strange thing to see on the road, Frank.”

“Yeah but there are never cars behind us. Or in front of us. Never. So why is there one now?”

“You know it’s not impossible,” he says, “and that can’t always be true, because _we’re_ on this road, and this road isn’t made exclusively for us. It’s just a car so it’s not true right now. It’s fine, Frank.”

I hear him and what he says makes sense, but I do not believe it. I have a gut feeling, that something is not right. Maybe I’m paranoid but I’ve come to the conclusion that any cars with blacked out windows are not to be trusted, so I really don’t trust that car.

“Gerard, I don’t think this is just an irregularity in a set. I think they’re following us,” I say firmly.

“Frankie-”

“No Gerard. I’m not convinced that they’re just on this road behind us. Why are they so close? There’s a whole road to take up so why are they staying tight with us?”

Gerard doesn’t have an answer for that and he looks at the mirror again, so I see him get a little more wary.

“But we got away from that life. We got away from Banks. Why would there be... why? Frank, why would someone be following us? Did _he_ find us?”

“I don’t know, Gerard,” I say, trying to keep my voice level. I’m trying not to sound scared. If Gerard thinks I’m scared then he’ll get scared too, but it’ll be so much worse because he’s driving. He also gets scared a little easier than I do.

“What do I do?” he asks, nervously.

“Speed up, try to lose them,” I say. I don’t actually know what a person is supposed to do in this situation, but I think that sounds like a start. Gerard looks nervous, but he puts his foot to the pedal and the car subtly moves forward.

“Shit, they sped up too!” I say looking in the mirror. Not only did they speed up with us, they’ve gotten closer now.

“Oh god, oh god oh god,” Gerard says and his hands on the wheel have tightened so that his fingers and knuckles are a pure bloodless white. 

“Calm down, Gerard,” I say to him. 

“How? We’re being followed! There’s no one else here! What the hell do I do? God, fuck,” He says glancing from me to the rearview mirror.

“I’m trying to think, okay?” I say to him. “First things first, is that you should speed up even more. We need to find civilization, but there’s nothing but trees for a long while.”

“Fuck!” Gerard says and he’s even more nervous to speed up more, “this is way above the speed limit.”

“We could really use a cop right now, so quit your complaining. Drive faster!”

“But Frank-”

“Faster!”

“I usually like hearing you say that, but this time, not so much,” Gerard says, and I have to stop myself from punching him. 

“Okay, uh...” I say trying to think of what to do. 

“Should we try turning around?” Gerard asks.

“No, of course not! They’ll just drive their bumper into us. You have to go as fast as you possibly can. They’re going to try to drive us off the road, or get us to pull over,” I say.

“How do you know?”

“Well that would be the most effective way to kill us.”

“They want to kill us?” Gerard says with panic.

“No they want to sit us down for a tea party,” I answer sardonically, “yes of course they want us dead.”

“Shit shit shit,” he says, “So what do we do? Do we just drive?”

“For now, yes,” I say. “Okay if they’re chasing us then that means they probably know where we live which means-”

“Mikey!” Gerard exclaims and we exchange another petrified stare.

“That’s not good. I’ll call him, hold on,” I say.

As soon as I get the words out there’s a painful lurch from behind us, sending me and Gerard forward a tick. Thank god for seat belts because that probably would’ve killed us.

“Oh god, what was that?” Gerard asks, already knowing the answer.

“I told you, they’re trying to run us off the road. Also asserting their dominance. Speed up, or they’ll do it ag-” I don’t even have time to say it this time because another jolt presses the seat belt painfully into my chest, springing a pain in my shoulder that I thought was gone.

“I have to call Mikey to warn him, he’s in danger too,” I say, grabbing my phone. My hands are shaking from an enormous variety of things including pain, fear and anxiety. Mostly fear though.

The sound of the tires on the bumpy road is loud, and makes it hard to concentrate, and the sound of the blood pumping in my ears isn’t making this much easier either. It takes me longer than it probably should to scroll through my contacts to find Mikey, because I keep sliding past his name. It’s hard to concentrate on much of anything.

I look over to Gerard as I finally find Mikey’s name and the dial tone starts. Gerard’s eyebrows are creased and his eyes are full of dread.

“Hello?”

“Mikey, thank god, listen to me,” I say thankful to hear his voice, “get out of the house. Banks has found us, get out of the house, and get as far as you can from it. Only take anything you can’t live without, okay?”

“What? Frank, are you serious?” Mikey asks.

“Yes, I’m absolutely serious, get out of there! Gerard and I are being followed and they’re not patient. Get out of there, okay?”

“Where do I go? I’m not leaving without you!” Mikey says.

“Mikey, we’re in more immediate danger, okay? I can’t guarantee that everything’s going to be okay, but get out of the house right now. Head to the convenience store that’s about ten miles away from the house. Gerard and I will meet you there if we can, okay?”

“Frank, what’s going on?” Mikey says, and he must be scared because there’s actual emotion in his voice.

“Mikey, please just listen to Frank!” Gerard says loudly and he checks the car behind us again to see that they’re still inches from our back bumper.

“Just get out of there, head to the convenience store and wait out for us. If we’re not there by tomorrow night then, well...” I don’t actually want to say the words because that would make them true. I’m afraid that we’re going to die though, and I don’t want Mikey to get looped in with us.

“What do you mean by that? You’re not going to-” he stops and I hear him breathing, “just be careful.”

“We’re going to try,” I say.

“Tell Gerard that I’ll kill him if he dies,” Mikey says, “and I’ll kill you too.”

“Got it, Mikes. I should go. We’ll see you soon.”

“You’d better.”

I hang up just in time for another hit from the back, and it’s starting to really piss me off. These guys are not very polite. I mean I understand that they’re probably assassins like me, but now they’re just doing it to piss us of. Part of me kind of hopes the car is being driven by an elderly blind woman who likes her privacy, because that would be much preferred than assassins.

“Fuck, oh god, Frank,” Gerard says looking at the mirror and my eyes widen a little bit too. The car is pulling to the side of ours so that it can drive parallel with us.

“Should I stop?” Gerard asks.

“You know, I have no idea. They’re going to shoot at us, Gerard,” I say, but he waves his hand so I think he already knew that.

“Oh god they’re getting closer,” Gerard says a moment later after I frantically bite my nails down to stubs.

“Okay, Gerard, I don’t see any ways out of this,” I say.

“Are you saying we’re going to die? This is it?” He asks.

“No of course we’re not going to die! I’m not going to let them kill you, but I don’t see our escape at the moment,” I say honestly.

“Fuck, this is just perfect. This was supposed to be our special night. Our anniversary, but we’re going to die instead!”

“We are not!” I repeat, “The only thing I’ve got is that we pull over to the trees and we run.”

“Run? But they’ve got a car!” Gerard says.

“Not on the side of the road, run into the trees!” I correct him, and my heart is starting to pound even faster as I realize how small the chances are that we’re going to live through this.

“But what about guns? They probably have guns!”

“That would be the purpose of running. We’ve got to lose them, and if we go now it’ll give us a head start. Are you okay with that?”

“Well do we have any other plans?”

“No.”

Gerard whines, “Then I guess I’m fine with that.”

“So when I tell you to I want you to swerve to your left, okay?”

“No it’s not okay!”

“Okay?” I ask sternly.

“Fucking fine!”

“Okay Gerard, you ready?” I ask leaning over to make sure his seat belt is as tight as it’ll get. He makes a strangling sound, but nods his head, and I gulp.

I look at the car behind us that’s still gaining on us, and they’ll be parallel with our car in only a moment.

“Okay, slow down very steadily, but do it quickly enough that they won’t notice you’re doing it,” I say, and Gerard does his best to lower the speed of the car.

“Don’t aim for anything, but please try not to hit a tree, keep your wits up, and stay calm. When we stop I need you not to pause, just get up, grab my hand and run,” I tell him. “Make sure we don’t split up.”

He nods again and I realize that it’s now or never.

“Okay, _now_!” I tell him. The car veers sharply to the left, sending us almost skidding across the tarmac.

There’s a loud crash and then things go black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for being so understanding. I'm so sorry all this has happened, but I can't change it. Comments, views, kudos all mean twice as much to me now then before and they already meant so much to me before this crazy shit happened.


	50. Into the Woods (See What I did There?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter fifty woot woot!

“Frank? Frank!”

“What happened?” I say blinking my eyes open.

“I hit a tree,” Gerard says.

“I told you not to hit a tree.”

“You told me to _try_ not to hit a tree. I tried not to, and failed.”

I blink my eyes open then remember where we are, “oh shit, Gerard we’ve gotta go!” 

“You were only out for a few seconds,” Gerard says, pulling the driver’s side door open after I grab the handle on my side.

I notice quickly that the door does not want to open, and I see that it’s because there’s a tree branch blocking the door, so I crawl over the shift control and Gerard grabs my elbows to help pull me out.

“Come on, Frank, they’re pulling over!” Gerard says.

“Wait no, I’ve got to grab something,” I say and I quickly get the door to the back of the car open and grab the sweatshirt that’s been sprawled across the backseat.

“Really? Is this the time to be thinking about clothing?” Gerard asks.

I pull my head out of the car and grab his hand, “I’ll explain in a moment, now run!”

Gerard nods and we jog quickly behind us into the woods. I check the other car and see that they’ve pulled over a fairly long way down the road, because they had to speed down. They’re quite a bit off all things considering. We’ve got at least a minute and a half head start.

There’s two men, neither I recognize. One is bearded with dark brown hair, and the other is an intimidating looking Asian man.

“As fast as you can go,” I say, as we cross under the threshold of the trees. The sun is still high in the sky, but it is most definitely setting. I don’t know what time it is, sometime around dusk, but I forget to even think about it as we start to really run.

It’s hard with the trees in our way, making it very complicated with the added obstacles. These woods are heavy, not much cultivating has been done, so we’re really in the grasp of Mother Nature.

I hear the snapping of twigs beneath us, but also the sound of large men behind us, and a lot of heaving. My hand is sweating in Gerard’s and I can’t really do anything, but allow him to guide me. He’s better at choosing the best route through the trees then I’d have expected, considering how gangly he’s always made himself to seem, but I still get a bunch of scrapes on my arms and face. His legs are also longer so he’s faster.

The sweatshirt in my arms almost gets caught on a few of the jutting branches but I yank it along with me, because I can’t risk losing it.

The question is not whether or not these men will stop chasing us, because these guys mean business, it’s whether they’ll catch up to us, or whether we give up and let them find us. We’ve only been running for about five minutes, but I can already feel myself getting tired, and I’m too afraid to look back.

They’re bigger which means they’ll meet more interference, but they’re brawnier so the interference won’t have as much of an effect on them. I don’t know if we’re better built for this, or they are but we’re stressed and terrified so that gives them a plus.

It’s only about a minute later when they make us aware that they’re armed. It’s not hard to follow us because we are making a lot of noise, since the trees, leaves, and everything else is crunching beneath our feet, but still I’d have hoped we had some cover from the trees.

The sound of very large guns bangs behind us and I hear Gerard squeak, and he looks at me, his pale face an almost grey color. The trees around us make groaning noises from the tension on their bark, and I fear that some of the thinner ones’ might collapse altogether. Those guys are going to kill a tree if they keep at it. I should probably worry more about us then them.

The firing stops a moment later without any bullets actually getting anywhere near and I chance a look over my shoulder at them.

They’re a ways off, but I can definitely see them. They look more like shadows than anything else because the canopy above us is low hanging and dense, but they are still making their way. I can’t be sure if we’ve successfully held our advantage on them, or if they’re averaging a better speed, but I hope it’s not the latter.

“When do we stop running and start hiding?” Gerard pants at me, and I don’t have an answer for him.

The sun is at that time of day where it’s lowering at an unimaginably fast pace, but it’s already thin in the trees. Dusk is on our heels and we have only to hope that it can cover us as well.

“Have you seen the Fellowship of the Ring?” I ask, and Gerard looks at me like I just grew a third head.

I almost trip on a tree root, and Gerard is forced to pull me up and away from it, which puts a painful strain in my arm, making me really feel where that bullet was a few months ago. Sometimes I still feel the hurt, like a ghost of pain and then it’s gone. I think it’s partially in my head, but it’s still sensitive. Right now it feels like I’ve been shot all over again, even though I know I haven’t.

“The scene, with the mushrooms. We need to find somewhere like that to hide,” I verify for him, and he seems to understand me a little bit better. Really, he has a point though, now isn’t exactly the best time to be commenting on the cinematography of Tolkien based pictures.

These trees seem boundless, like there’s literally no end. The whole world is just trees now. We’ve been running for a while now and I honestly don’t know if I’d be able to go back the way I came.

This is miserable. My face has a bunch of cuts on it, enough that I can feel a drop of blood rolling down the side of my neck forebodingly. My whole body is sweating, which is making the running harder. My shirt chafes on my skin, especially under my arms where the perspiration is starting to build up. My legs feel abused, and the skin around my ankles is wrecked and raw. 

I think I’m beginning to slow us down based on the way that Gerard’s guiding is starting to seem more like tugging. I don’t know how much longer I can run for though, because my lungs are pieces of shit.

Why isn’t there any sign of life out here though? No animals, no humans, barely even any bugs. It’s daunting and creepy, like we just entered the forest out of a horror film. I half expect Jason to run out of the trees with a chainsaw.

“We’ve got to find somewhere to try and hide,” I say, but all I get in response is Gerard’s breathing. It’s hard to even fathom stopping, while we’re being chased by men with guns. Really we have to though, I can’t run much longer without passing out.

My lungs are burning and I cough into my hand, which blurs my vision for a moment, making me almost stop dead in my tracks. I look down at my hand when I return to the lagging pace and I feel my heart groan when I see blood. That used to happen in gym when I was younger, but it’s been years since I’ve run enough for me to cough up blood.

“Fuck,” I say, “Gerard we really need to find somewhere to rest.”

Gerard looks at me with a worried expression, and he slows down his pace than looks around. The men are a fair bit behind us so we find the biggest tree to stand behind and inch around it slowly. The noise of our feet has all but stopped so all I hear is the two men, but they’re not showing any signs that they’re even effected by the sprinting. What are they robots?

I do see them starting to slow down though, and they realize that they’ve lost sight of us, so I move my head back to hiding behind the tree. It’s a very large tree so it has space to hide us both from their plane of sight, but if they keep looking around here they’ll find us in little to no time.

I look at the dirt at my feet, searching for something with enough momentum to throw. There are no rocks, but there’s a big branch of a graspable shape. I take it in my hand and throw it as far in the other direction as I can. It’s cliché, but I have noticed in my life that people with biceps bigger than their brains are usually as smart as their tiny heads would make you think. 

I sneak a peek behind the tree to see them follow the direction where I threw the branch, so I pull Gerard off in the opposite direction, very slowly.

We duck behind another tree after a safe distance because there’s no such thing as to much caution. I’ve lost sight of them for the most part, but I do see figures moving in the opposite direction. They’re still looking over there.

“Put this on,” I say and hand the sweatshirt to Gerard. He looks at me funny, probably wondering why I want him to put on something that will make him sweat even more. “There’s a hood dummy. Your head is a siren.”

Gerard’s eyes look up like he’s trying to see his own hair, which is technically long enough for him to do so, but it’s been swept back from sweat. He grabs the sweatshirt anyway and puts it on, and over his head.

“Good?” he whispers.

I nod and give him a thumbs up. He grabs my hand when I do so and looks down at the bits of dried blood there, which makes me remember the tickle in my throat.

I shake my head to say ‘no big deal,’ but his eyebrows look critical and scared for reasons other than the obvious.

My throat is really starting to hurt now though, because I have to cough, but I can’t. If I were to cough I would essentially be sending out a red flare that we’re right here.

The look he sends me is inquisitive though, and I want to tell him that if I try to respond I’ll cough and we’ll be given away. He just keeps looking at me though. He doesn’t realize that what he’s asking, even without the words, is not ideal at the moment.

“Frank?” He asks firmly, looking fed up of me not answering. He’s still holding my hand up for me to look at it with the spattered blood on it. It’s the kind of configuration that is obvious it had to have been splattered, not wiped or anything. I just can’t open my mouth without giving us away and he isn’t _getting_ that.

His stare bears into me and I look behind the tree to make sure that the men aren’t making their way over here. I grab my phone from my pocket and start a text without a recipient. 

‘Can’t talk, I’ll cough,’ and I show it to him. He nods, but his stare doesn’t get any less interrogative.

“Just in case, Frank, I love you,” Gerard says and blinks his eye a few times, like he’s trying not to cry, which wouldn’t be entirely out of the question.

I nod, and hope that I’ll have time _after_ today to actually say that too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did'ya see what I did there? My sister would be so proud of that reference, you have no idea.


	51. A Story In Your Head, But That's Okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When I find myself in times of trouble... Matt Smith comes to me.

The tickle in my throat goes away after a few minutes, but I’m positive it will return again if I do any more running. I check my phone to see that it’s pushing on eight o’clock, and there’s no cell service, which isn’t surprising. I would have really liked to have called the police though, but I can’t unfortunately. 

“Can we maybe head back to the car?” Gerard asks.

“I don’t remember which direction that was, we’d get even more lost,” I respond, “and you crashed into a tree, I don’t think it would run anyway.”

“I sort of remember which way it was,” he says.

“Enough to get us back there?”

Gerard frowns and shakes his head, “Frankie, I don’t want to die tonight.”

I look at him desperately, and say, “You’re not going to. Neither of us will. I’ll keep you safe, okay?”

Gerard doesn’t look like he believes me but he nods anyway. I think he knows that I would do anything to keep him safe, and if I have to I’ll take another bullet for him. I would really prefer not to, but if that’s what it takes then I’ll do it. I wouldn’t even think twice.

“I’ve had this dream a million times, Frank,” Gerard says, “and it usually doesn’t end very happily.”

“You’re so negative,” I tell him, and it’s definitely not untrue. “Do you want to keep moving, or hope they don’t find us here?”

“Uh, moving, I think. It sounds like a better plan,” Gerard says. “We know roughly which direction the car is let’s just head that way and hope for the best.”

I nod and my hand almost slips from his because I’m sweating. I’m almost too paralyzed to move, but I allow myself to take a few steps in the direction that leads away from our followers. What I really need is a gun, or something for self-defense. I just need to keep Gerard alive, and breathing. Preferably undamaged as well.

I hear his breathing and my own, but other than a very faint sound of crunching leaves, we’re pretty quiet. I look up to see that the sun has all but disappeared which should be a good thing if we are to run from them. They’re a lot bigger than us so they make more noise, and I’m fairly certain that we would’ve heard them if they’d started walking this way.

It’s getting harder to see which is not a good thing, and I keep my eyes trained on anything that’s darker than my surroundings. I still almost run into a few trees, but I’m starting to think that we’re heading back in the right direction. There’s a definite trail that we’re following of broken branches, as well as the floor being a little unnatural spread. I guide Gerard down it, and hope that we’re getting further and further from our pursuers. If we can make it back to the car, we might be able to walk along the road until we find some cell service. I could also hotwire the other car, which I can do, it just might take a few minutes. If they have extra guns it shouldn’t be too hard to watch over it.

I don’t want to try hitchhiking though, not when we’re being followed by men with guns, because I could end up putting someone else in harm’s way.

“Frank, I can’t see,” Gerard whispers to me, and I sigh because I can’t either. The only light that I have is from the stars that are just starting to come out, because the moon is new, making it absent from the sky. I grab my cell phone and use it as a flashlight, but I don’t want to run out of battery, so I switch it off every other minute.

Our progress seems to be extremely slow, but at least we don’t hear any noise around us. I pause every now and again and perk my ear out for any signal that someone else is there, but I hear nothing.

I’m starting to get really tired of walking and it seems like we’ve been walking for so much longer than it should take, but at the same time I guess it makes sense because we were running the first time through.

I realize only just after it’s too late that I’ve lost our trail. I’m now standing aimlessly in the middle of the woods, probably attracting bugs or ticks of all shapes and sizes, and I don’t know where to go from here.

“Gerard, I don’t know where I’m going,” I admit. Gerard makes a whimpering sound and I feel him press his head into the back of my neck. I’m kind of sweaty so I can’t smell too great, but I understand that he’s just scared, and it’s for comfort.

“We’ll find our way out of here, okay?” I say. He still doesn’t answer, but I feel what could be a nod on my shoulder. I wouldn’t be able to see it if I were to look over at him because it’s so dark already, but I like that he’s right there.

“I’m scared,” he whispers and his words hit me like a blow to the stomach. I can’t do anything to help him, and there’s nothing I can say to make him feel better and I hate feeling so useless.

“You don’t deserve any of this, Gerard. Tell me how you’d end this story if you could control the ending,” I say.

“What?”

“If you were an unbiased writer, trying to publish this as a comic, how would you end it? How would you end it to make people enjoy it?” I ask.

“I mean, no one likes it when the hero dies. It happens, but it’s never well received,” Gerard says, and all I hear is his voice, because I don’t really see him. I’m aware of him standing behind me, I’m aware of his hand in my own, and his forehead is still on my shoulder, but I don’t actually see him. It’s actually kind of nice, if you subtract the bloodthirsty bounty hunters, and the bugs. I hate bugs, but at least it’s dark enough that I can pretend they’re not out there. Gerard had better hope we don’t see a spider though because I will scream at the top of my lungs like a girl. A very frilly, terrified, girl.

“Gerard, you’re villain, our villain, he’s already a comic book character. If he’s the opposition to your hero, then who do you think has to come out on top? Who would buy a story where you and I don’t win in the end?”

“Aren’t you the one that said that this isn’t a comic book?” 

“I did say that, yes, but things have changed. When we talked about it earlier we were trying to describe Mikey’s innocence. You said no one would buy a comic where Mikey ended up being the bad guy. As it turns out the bad guy is the faceless villain of your imagination, so I think that changes the playing field a little bit. No one wants to read the story where you and I die in the end, and I believe that that’s going to keep us alive.”

“It’s just a story, Frank,” Gerard says, “just a story.”

“We’re all stories in the end,” I reply.

“Just make it a good one,” Gerard finishes and I can feel him smiling, even though I can’t see it. 

“I love you Gerard,” I say quietly, feeling a little more at ease with our situation. I get us moving again a minute later, and Gerard’s grip in my hand is just as tight, but it’s not solely to stay together this time.

I’m pretty sure I hear an owl out there somewhere, and it’s actually kind of nice to think that lives are still going on apart from ours. Yes, we may be dead soon, but it’s nice to think that the world is still going to move on. It’s a little sad, but I like to think that it’s comforting to know that other people will keep going on without fearing.

“Ow, shit,” Gerard says and I feel him fall to the ground beside me. It’s hard to see him, so I aim my phone at him and see him lying on his butt. He looks disheveled, but unhurt, and I really want to take him home and kiss him, but I don’t think I’m going to get the chance tonight.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I just tripped over a tree root, I’m fine,” Gerard answers, and I raise my hand out to help him up. He looks frazzled for another second before grabbing my hand, but I realize immediately that he did more damage than he thought.

“Fuck, Gerard,” I say as he almost falls over again. “I think you twisted it or something.”

“Must have,” Gerard says, but he doesn’t look too worried. The look in his eyes though says that it hurts like a bitch, so I put my arm around him, and get him to put the weight of that side of his body on me.

“You good, Gerard?”

“I think so, as long as we get out of here soon and don’t have to run,” Gerard says.

“I think we’re almost out, don’t worry,” I say and I do think so, because it’s getting lighter up ahead, like we’re getting close to the road.

“You okay to walk?” I ask him.

Gerard nods, and I get a better grip around him just to be safe. I think we’re out of immediate danger at the moment, but we’ve got to get out of these woods, where we’re more likely to be snuck up on.

I hear Gerard whimpering lightly whenever he puts too much pressure on his foot, so I’m going to have to get him to a doctor very soon, but I can’t let us rest now. We’re getting closer, it’s becoming more obvious because the trees are getting thinner.

Another five minute walk that’s deathly slow, and we step onto the uneven tar road. I’ve never been happier to see a road before. I look at Gerard thankfully and he’s smiling at me, but I don’t see either of the cars, which isn’t all that surprising. We’ve come out on a different part of the road then where we went into the trees.

“What do you think, right or left?” I ask him, and Gerard shrugs. “Can I let you sit here, and I’ll check both ways-”

“No, I’m not leaving your side,” Gerard says.

“Okay then. I’m going to go with right,” I say for no reason, it’s just a hunch. The car can’t be too far down the road either way, we just have to find it. I should be able to get theirs running without too much effort, though it has been a while since I last stole a car. Long story.

“C’mon Gerard, let’s get you safe,” I say as we start walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not even trying to be sneaky with these references anymore I'm just hitting you in the face with them.
> 
> Comment?


	52. How to Fire A Gun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was so cute picturing Gerard in this chapter.

“Frankie,” Gerard groans when I start walking too fast. I can’t help it, I see the car and I want to get to it as quickly as possible.

“Hurry up, Gerard. You can sit down in a moment, okay?”

“What’s the point, the car hit a tree it’s not going to run,” Gerard says.

“There are a few tricks I’ve picked up in my life that would both surprise and repel you. One of those such things is hotwiring a car,” I say.

“You can hotwire a car?” Gerard asks, sounding like a mixture of impressed and a little accusatory. 

“Yes, well I’m very good at a lot of things. Just none of the things I’m good at are legal,” I say. “Maybe someday I’ll show you how to remove mattress tags.”

“Is it bad that I find that hot?” Gerard questions.

I giggle, “If you find that hot than you and I may have been made for each other.”

“I don’t think it’s just _that_ that makes us made for each other,” he says and then blushes.

It’s kind of fun talking about this so freely with Gerard. I mean, obviously I’ve done some pretty shitty things in my life. I’ve stolen wallets, killed a few people, broken into a bunch of places, and done various other illegal activities, but it’s nice to just _talk_ about it. I at least haven’t done anything really awful. I don’t steal things that can’t be replaced, or that are going to be really missed. I’m not the kind of person who’d steal a diamond ring, or a family heirloom. I would never steal a person’s identity, and I would never actually kill someone for myself. 

Being a contract killer is kind of a sensitive expertise because it’s not something I’m proud to be good at. I am, I’m very good at it, but I don’t like to be. I’ve got a good standing in my community, or at least I used to. Gerard doesn’t judge me though, and I think that’s one of the things that makes me so crazy about him. He knows who I am, flaws and all, but he accepts it. The way he’s so willing to let it go makes me almost weep from happiness. He’s honestly the most amazing human being I have ever met, and am likely to ever meet.

“Do you have any cell reception?” I ask looking at the nonexistent bars on my phone. Gerard shakes his head and I sigh.

It takes a little longer then I’d wish for us to get to the car, and I leave Gerard on the sidewalk a few feet away to make sure there’s no one inside. When I see that our ambusher’s car is sufficiently unoccupied I wave Gerard over. He eagerly clambers over and leans himself on the side of the car with exhaustion. 

“Can I have that sweatshirt back for a moment, Gerard?” I ask him after peaking into the window. Gerard raises an eyebrow, but he shrugs the garment off and hands it to me a moment later.

I wrap the fabric around my fist then take aim at the window of the car. It shatters with ease, and I unravel the sweater handing it back to Gerard. He looks surprised at the sudden loud noise, but he doesn’t question it. I get a hand on the interior handle of the car, and pull the driver’s side door open in front of me.

“Oh, jackpot!” I say, looking into the backseat. It is though. There’s a briefcase that I check the contents of and after opening it, I’m a little offended. Money. Lots and lots of money. Banks is paying these guys this much cash, when I got one third of this. Rude. There’s also a big sniper rifle, which on any other day would probably make my jaw drop because it’s one gorgeous piece of weaponry, but I just grab it, and thank the idiot assassins for already assembling it. There’s a smaller revolver in there that I grab as well, and some documents that I make a reminder to look through if I get the time.

“Hey Gerard, would you maybe hold onto this for me,” I say crawling out of the car. I see his eyes widen and I snort slightly at the fear he gets when I hold the huge gun out to him. 

“I... uh, Frank,” Gerard splutters desperately, and I feel my smile get bigger at his indecision.

“How about you hold the little gun then,” I say setting the rifle back onto the seat, and handing the revolver out to him. He looks almost as incredulous by the little thing as he was the rifle.

“Here Gerard, I’ll show you how to use it,” I say and I hold it out for him to take. He looks so hesitant to grab it. “Relax, Gerard, the safety is on.”

He takes it carefully and I watch his hand droop a little by the unexpected weight of the weapon. I go to stand right in front of him, where he’s still leaning on the side of the car.

“Alright Gerard, I don’t want you to shoot it now, because it’s kind of a loud thing, so I’m going to show you how to shoot it with the safety on. If you see any movement flip this little lever on the side,” I point to the small switch and Gerard nods, “that’s the safety. It clicks out of place if you flip it.”

“Do you think I’m going to have to use it?” Gerard asks nervously.

“I hope not, but I’d rather you knew how, okay?” I say and I put my hand on his shoulder to stop him from shaking a little bit.

He takes a deep breath and nods for me to keep going.

“Okay, you know where the trigger is right? You’ve seen enough movies and shit, it’s this little nook, and the circle around it is called the trigger guard. Make sure you’re forefinger is in that nook if you see someone coming as well. Essentially that’s the part that shoots. Now this is a revolver, not a pistol, so you have a hammer instead of a slide. You see pistols on cop shows, that’s what they’re more likely to use, and it looks a bit cooler. But you have a revolver here, it’s got a hammer which is a little less convenient. These are a much older type of gun, and if you’ve ever seen a western movie, that’s what they were using probably.”

“What is a hammer?” Gerard asks, and I realize just how dauntingly little he knows about these things, so I continue.

“The hammer is this part right here,” I point to the small switch on the top part of the gun, “it’s on the other side of the barrel so you don’t have to worry about your hand getting in the way of the bullet, okay? What you need to do is pull the hammer down while you’re pulling the trigger. You cock it back with your thumb, and you pull the trigger simultaneously. That’s how you get the bullet to shoot out.”

“Why are there two parts?” Gerard complains and I roll my eyes at him. There’s a reason pistols are more popular than revolvers and it’s for that exact reason.

“Okay, that’s how you fire a gun, but you also need to know how to stand,” I tell him, and I take the gun from his grasp to demonstrate the stance for him. I hand it back to him, and I get Gerard to place his feet at shoulder-width apart, then get him to put his left foot a step in front of his other foot.

“You’re dominant arm should be completely straight, okay? Hold it firmly out in front of you and that’s the hand that should be doing most of the aiming. Your other elbow should be a little more lax. That’s the hand you use to try and keep everything steady. This is how you should stand when you’re firing a gun, got that?”

Gerard nods, and says, “I’m way too scared to actually shoot this thing though. And my ankle hurts.”

“You’re not putting all that much pressure on your left leg, Gerard, it’s just to keep your balance. If you weren’t so alien to holding a gun, I’d say you might be able to lean against the car, but your aim would be way off.”

“But why can’t _you_ shoot it?” Gerard pleads.

“Because I have to hotwire a car which is going to take me about ten to fifteen minutes. I also think it’s best if you know how,” I tell him, feeling a bit miffed, “one last step and then I’ll get to working on the car.”

“You’re not done yet? How complicated is this thing?” Gerard asks, looking at the gun with disdain.

“You’ve barely even held a gun before! I have to run through everything. The last piece to the puzzle is the aiming. What you do is hold the gun about level with your nose, and when you look at the gun in your hand you have to think of it as an extension of your arm. It should be an arm’s length away but make it level. You have to remember that it’s the aim that counts most. You can fire a bunch of bullets in a few seconds and miss with every one, so you have to remember that aim is more important than speed.”

“Is that an innuendo?” Gerard says, and I actually laugh despite myself.

“Okay, shut up,” I say rolling my eyes, “when you aim, you need to always aim it just under the target. If you point straight at it, you’re going to miss it because the guns going to force itself upward from impact. Point it just under the goal. You need to steady your breathing the best you can. Steady breath makes for a steady hand, so take deep breaths, and you’ll find yourself shaking less and less. When you take aim, you point and pull the trigger, then you hold the gun on the spot the best you can. The blowback is going to be pretty significant, and you’re going to feel it. It’s going to force your arms up, and it’s gonna be fucking loud, but you have to keep the same position and stance the best you can. The follow-through is the scariest part usually because that’s when you have to pull yourself together well enough to fire again. If the target is still advancing you squeeze the trigger once again, and if you keep your position the accuracy is more likely to be on point.”

“Okay, but what happens if it’s really strong?”

“Oh it will be, you just have to try to keep your stance the best you can. It would be nice if you can pick up any shell casings from the ground after firing as well, but only after you’ve used all your bullets. The shell casing is what police use to identify the gun, because you can’t always get an accurate read on a bullet if it enters, well, if it goes inside a person.”

“Like what happened to you?” Gerard asks.

“Yep, precisely. The gun that shot me was an unregistered pistol, which means that they had no way of tracing it to anyone. This is probably unregistered as well, or stolen, but it’s usually best if the cops don’t even know the guns story.”

“Is that all?” Gerard asks.

“Yep, I think so. It’s not the best I wish I could do for you, but it’ll have to do. Ideally we’d fire off a few rounds to help you get a feel for the gun, but we can’t afford to make that much noise,” I check that the safety is on one last time before I walk over to the front seat and look at the wheel sheepishly. Time to get to work.

“So do I just... stand guard?” Gerard asks, poking his head to look at me undoing the dashboard.

“Basically, yeah,” I say not looking at him as I get to work, “holler if you even _kind of_ think someone is out there, okay? You’ve got your gun. I’ve got mine.”

I pat the big gun that I moved to the seat next to me and I start on the wires of the car unenthusiastically. I always hate this part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I wrote the first chapter of a new fic that you might want to check out maybe [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1763495/chapters/3771561)
> 
> And also chapter one of book two of The FBI Gets Shit Done is up so you should check that out [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1759475/chapters/3761913)


	53. Kind of awwww, and Also Kind of AHHHHHHHH!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steeling cars, and public acts of lewdness.

Bang.

“Gerard?”

“Sorry! Shit, oh shit sorry. Frankie, it was an accident,” Gerard says.

I peer out of the side of the car to see Gerard holding the gun in his hand like it’s a time bomb rather than a gun.

“Fuck, did you shoot?” I ask, trying not to sound angry.

“I, um, may have. I just wanted to see how it worked. Shit, I didn’t mean for it to go off, Frankie! I didn’t, god do you hate me?”

“No, I’m pissed off, but I don’t hate you. Your mistake did make things just get a hell of a lot more urgent, Gerard. Get in this car now,” I say.

“What, why?” 

“Because we’re going to have company soon. It’s a _revolver_ , Gerard! It’s louder than a pistol,” I say and now I have to hurry up on getting the damn engine to start. Gerard just cost me a lot of time and I want to be very mad at him, but I love him too damn much. 

Gerard knocks on the window of the other door and I realize I’ve forgotten to open the door for him, so I reach over and get it for him.

I grab the rifle on the seat and I place it next to me, half on the gear control, and half on the floor near the pedals.

“How much longer is it going to take?” Gerard asks.

“I don’t know, Gerard. I don’t know,” I say, sounding a lot more annoyed then I’d like.

“Frank, you hate me!” Gerard complains.

“Gerard, shut the fuck up. I love you, but I need you to be quiet right now,” I say. “Okay? This is a hard process and I need you to be silent. Shut up.”

Gerard opens his mouth to say something but thinks better of it and closes it again. I look down at the mess of wires before me, and I groan, because this is going to take me longer then I’d hoped, and now I have the threat of a likely time crunch on my hands. I don’t know how I can possibly do this without endangering both of us.

“Gerard, fuck, I don’t know how much time this is going to take,” I say.

“But you can do it?” Gerard asks.

“Yes, hand me that gun,” I say, and he gives it back to me. I don’t want him firing it again and giving those guys a game of Marco polo. One shot is enough for them to know where are we are in general, and another would lead them straight to us. I put the safety on, trying to fathom why Gerard would have taken it off in the first place, and I keep working. There’s so many wires in these newer cars though, I haven’t done this in forever, and now I have to work on a car that’s designed to be harder to hotwire. This is just great.

“Do you see anyone coming?” I ask him. Gerard blinks a few times and bites his lip, but he opens the window and peers out into the night from the top of the car.

“I don’t see anyone,” Gerard says.

“Good, stay there, but keep your body in the car. If you see anybody tell me, okay. We’ve still got the big gun.”

“Alright,” Gerard answers nervously.

A few minutes later and my heart is starting to beat so fast that I’m afraid it’s going to cause an earthquake. I don’t like Gerard being so exposed like that, but if he doesn’t keep watch then it’ll be easier for them to sneak up on us.

I think I’ve got it, but then it doesn’t work and I frown at myself. It’s just not starting. I’ve connected the right wires, or at least I think I have, but they’re just not starting. Nothings doing anything, and I don’t know why.

There’s always one other way, but I’d much rather try not to do that.

“Frank,” Gerard’s voice says and he sounds utterly terrified.

“Do you see someone?” I ask, feeling panic hit me like a cold shower washing over me.

“There’s movement behind the trees,” Gerard’s voice tells me.

“Get yourself in here, right now,” I say warningly, and he doesn’t think twice before crawling back in.

“Glove compartment, Gerard,” I tell him trying to give the car one last-ditch effort, but it’s not working.

“What do you need?” he asks opening the glove compartment. I check inside, and thank heaven, because these assassins are at least smarter than I’d thought. I grab the soundproofing ear muffs and I don’t think twice before putting them on.

I grab the rifle again, and say to Gerard, “Cover your ears.”

I prop the big gun on the still-broken window and I look through the gun scope. It really is one beautiful piece of machinery, because the scope has a tinted green night vision. I like these guys’ taste in firearms. The window sill doesn’t make the best blind, but it’ll have to do.

Through the scope I see that Gerard wasn’t lying. There is movement, and I can see it much clearer than he could. Two above-average sized people, trying to be all sneaky, but I’ve got him.

I whisper to Gerard to cover his ears one more time just to make sure, and then I take my aim and I shoot.

I shoot their feet. I don’t mind putting those guys in wheelchairs or something, call it a gift from me to them. It would be so easy to kill them is the thing. Just shoot them right here and now. One each in the chest. It’d be a cinch. Too easy. Like it would have been to kill Gerard.

I don’t kill them though, I just shoot four bullets, one to each ankle and I watch them collapse. I actually smile a little bit. It’s like old times. I know it’s bad for me to say, but I’ve kind of missed having a gun in my hands.

“Okay, that should be good for a few minutes,” I say, taking the earmuffs off and Gerard looks at me a little stunned. He’s never seen me fire a gun before. I didn’t even consider that. Now he has, but he doesn’t seem scared which is the preferred reaction, if I’m going to be honest.

“Grab me that briefcase,” I say and he reaches in the back to hand me the briefcase full of money.

I make sure it’s closed all the way, and I just decide that it’s time for a last resort. I bang the briefcase as hard and fast as I can against the key, and then again, and again. I kind of hurt my hand a bit, but it’s not too bad.

“What the hell are you doing?” Gerard asks.

“What? Never seen a man furiously beat a car before?” You need to get out more, my friend,” I say and I hit it again. The briefcase isn’t going to work, and I see that after a few more hits. I throw it to Gerard, who looks so baffled that it’s absolutely adorable.

“Cover your ears again, last time I promise,” I tell him, and I grab the revolver. 

It’s not exactly a smart thing to do, and it’s definitely dangerous, but this gun isn’t very powerful so we should be good. I point the muzzle directly at the key mechanism and fire.

That did the trick because it falls off like a little piece of shrapnel a moment later. I see the rotation switch in the debris of the battered key, and it’s not too hard to twist the little tumbler.

What follows is the blissful sound of the car’s ignition. It sounds like a fucking orchestra to me, and I turn to see Gerard grinning, but he still looks confused.

“What was that about?”

“I bypassed ignition lock, and just went straight for the rotation switch. No biggie,” I say.

“I could fucking kiss you!” Gerard says, and I smile at him.

“Not just yet, there’s one last thing I want to do,” I wink at him and unclasp the briefcase. He gives me a curious look, and doesn’t seem all that surprised to see the money. 

“Hey boys!” I shout out the window. I take a wad of cash from the briefcase and pull out a couple of twenties, maybe totaling to about three hundred dollars.

“For your consideration,” I toss the money out the window, and give my best shit-eating grin to them, “Don’t let it get lost by the wind!”

They grab for their guns, but I just snort. I flip them off then put my foot on the pedal, and we’re off. I feel absolutely _great_ about it.

~*~*~*~

About half an hour later we pull into the small parking lot of the convenience store that we told Mikey to head to. The lights inside are bright and I don’t like looking at them so I grab the revolver I set in one of the cup holders and look down at it for a moment.

“You know I could shoot you, Gerard.”

“What?” he asks.

“I could shoot you. I’ve got a revolver, we’re in the middle of nowhere. I could just shoot you and you’d be dead.”

Gerard turns pale, “What are you saying, Frank?”

“I’m just saying that I could shoot you, and then all this would stop, you know? Like you’d be dead, I could collect the money as The Enigma, and I could disappear, everything would be back to the way it was before I met you.”

“You’re scaring me Frank,” Gerard says.

“I don’t mean to,” I say, shaking my head. I grab the revolver and I twist the cylinder, letting the remaining four bullets pop out of it.

“Why’d you...?”

“Here,” I grab his hand and place them in it, then fold it closed for him. “I’m not going to hurt you, Gerard. I love you, which is stupid, because you’re a fucking dork, and we don’t really make that much sense. You’ve gotten in the way of my big plans, you know? Like, I was going to have so much money from that contract, and I was psyched, but then you came along and you fucked everything up.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Please don’t be. I think you’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. Actually, no, I don’t think you are, I _know_ you’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. You’re so damn perfect, and it’s starting to annoy me that I can’t find any flaws with you, but I like it. You just don’t make sense.”

Gerard’s voice is quiet when he asks, “H-how don’t I make sense?”

“Because you just don’t. I’m this elitist, seasoned killer and you’re a gorgeous little artist. We shouldn’t make sense, we shouldn’t have ever even met, but we did. Meeting you has kind of made me feel like I’ve finally pushed my head above water. Like I’m finally breathing. Finally seeing. I don’t know. I don’t understand you, but you make me feel really... real. Alive. 

“It’s like, with you, I’ve discovered a new color, right? And this new color can’t exist, there’s no room for it, all the colors that exist are already there. There’s no conceivable way for me to have found this new color, because it just isn’t possible, but there you are, living proof that that color is real. The spectrum of colors can’t contain you, but you’re right there, I’m looking at you. It doesn’t feel real, but at the same time I’m trying to now question how I ever lived without this color in my life, because it’s honestly... it’s the most beautiful color I’ve ever seen. It’s prettier than all the other colors, and it’s you, Gerard. You’re this new color, this new emotion, and I can’t wrap my head around your existence, but I never want to stop trying to figure it out. I never want to stop looking at you, knowing I’ll never understand you, because the view is just... just absolutely remarkable.”

"You think of me like that?” he whispers.

“I think higher of you then that, but that’s all I can vocalize with the words I have access to,” I say, and I look out the window, “You’re so much more than that though, Gerard.”

I feel his hand on my cheek, and when I turn to see him he kind of attacks me. I don’t even get to look at him, because his lips are on me before I even know what’s happening, and it feels so fucking raw.

Like, there’s teeth, and spit, and tongues are getting in the way, but it feels absolutely amazing. The way Gerard’s grabbing the sides of my head and pulling me in, like it’s possible that I’d ever actually refuse. It’s violent, sloppy, a little gross, and hungry, but I don’t care because it’s absolutely brilliant.

There’s a knock on the side of the car, because of course, the window is gone, and I see Mikey. I’m in an uncomfortable position wherein Mikey’s brother is practically straddling me in the front seat of a stolen car, and there’s also a gun wedged into my back which is poking at my neck. It’s all very awkward.

“I’m glad you’re both alive, but I hope you realize that it’s a class B misdemeanor to engage in public lewdness, e.g. having sex in a car,” Mikey says with that fucking monotone, and I still hear the amusement in his voice, even though it’s not actually there.

“Sorry,” Gerard says, but he doesn’t look even a little bit sorry, the little fuck.

“No you’re not,” Mikey rolls his eyes, and he grabs the handle to the backseat, then clambers inside.

“No I’m not,” Gerard confirms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, danger averted (for now).


	54. Don’t Get Your Hopes Up, There’s No Smut in This Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of fluff though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My props to anyone who understands the StarKid reference. Ten points to your respective house unless you're a hufflepuff (what the HELL is a hufflepuff?)

“Trashy hotel? Really? Can’t we go somewhere else?” Mikey asks.

“I doubt we can even go here, it’s past midnight. When do you think check-in was?” I answer.

“Probably a few hours ago,” Gerard says. “I don’t want to sleep in this car all out in the open though.”

“No, we really can’t,” I say, “We have to ditch this car as soon as possible.”

“So what the hell do we do?”

“We’re going to get a room here, and then we’re going to head into town tomorrow morning and get ourselves a car,” I tell him.

“How?” Mikey asks.

“Check the briefcase. There’s about fifty thousand in there,” I tell him, and Gerard picks the case up from at his feet.

“Whoa, holy fuck,” Mikey says looking at it dumbstruck, “I’ve never seen that much money in real life before.”

“I have,” I say, “once.”

“I’m not going to ask,” Mikey says, and he grabs the briefcase from Gerard.

“Why do you get to hold it?” Gerard asks.

Mikey rolls his eyes at Gerard, and I look at him in the rearview, “I have my laptop case, dipshit. My laptop is all I grabbed when I left the house.”

“Okay, call me an idiot if you’d like, but wouldn’t a laptop case be the first thing a person would try to steal if they were to rummage through our stuff?”

“Who do you think is going to be looking through our stuff?” I ask.

“Just saying,” Gerard replies.

“We’re only going to be staying here for a night, Gerard. It’s not a big deal, we’re just going to be here one night. Why do I feel like I just jinxed everything?” I ask.

“You’re too paranoid,” Gerard answers.

“I may be, but I’d rather be cautious than not,” I say, “Mikey take a thousand dollars or so, get yourself a room. If you take that much I’m sure they’ll bend the rules for you. Gerard and I are going to stay with the car.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I don’t want to risk us all being in the same place, and I don’t know who might be looking for this car right now,” I tell him.

“Why do you need Gerard?” Mikey asks.

“The answer to that is not for your ears, baby bro,” Gerard says.

Mikey makes a face, but grabs a knot of cash and then hops out of the car. I watch him as he goes, and pull into a parking spot to make sure that no one else goes in after him.

“What are we doing still here?” Gerard asks.

“I want to see that Mikey’s safe,” I tell him. “I doubt anyone followed us this time, but you can’t be too safe.”

“Mhm sure,” Gerard says, “so where are we going then?”

“Somewhere out of the view of the public eye,” I answer, “for multiple reasons.”

~*~*~*~

I pull the car into the first public park I can find, and then drive it out over the grass and into the coverage of a line of trees. It’s a big car so it has virtually no trouble going over the rougher terrain. 

“We stay with the money and the guns, and we stay away from anyone who may be looking for this car. Tomorrow.... I don’t know what we do tomorrow. We’re going to have to go get another car, and then we drive.” 

“Drive where?” Gerard asks.

“I don’t know, Gerard. I thought we’d be safe. I don’t know how they found us, but this has made it clear that obviously he knows how to track us. So what do we do now is the question? Maybe he had another mole in the police or something? If so I don’t see why it took three months to find us then. I think we need to avoid the police now too, Gerard.”

“What? So you’re saying that we have to go completely under the radar? From even the police?”

“I think so. Technology these, days they can track phones. We need to ditch ours. They can track credit card purchases, so we’re going to have to avoid using those at all costs too. We’re on our own out here, and now I don’t know how we can even do this, but I’d do anything to keep you safe, Gerard. It’s stupid how much I love you, but I really really do.”

“I love you too, Frank,” he says grabbing my hand with his own. “So where do we go from here?”

“I want to go back to New York City... but I don’t know who might be watching us. I don’t know who we have to hide from. It’s so scary, you know? We’re hiding from everybody all at once, but we don’t know who is to fear and who to rely on. It’s all just so fucked up. I wish I knew everyone who was in on this, but the closer I get to figuring it out, the more people are recruited. It’s like finding fucking Kira, but there’s a sea of Light Yagami’s. How many are we up to now? It could be dozens more then what I last thought.”

“Is there any way to differentiate bad people from good?” Gerard asks.

“Um, well there is that file that they left,” I say, unbuckling myself and reaching into the backseat, but Gerard stops me and I turn to look at him.

“The file can wait until tomorrow, Frank. We almost died today, let’s have some fun,” Gerard says.

“It _is_ still our anniversary isn’t it?” I answer feeling myself smiling.

“Well not technically, it was yesterday because the-”

“It still is. In the pacific time zone,” I say, and I push him against the side of the car, and he bites his lip.

“You’re right,” Gerard says smiling, “oh no, but wait! Remember Frank, it’s a class B misdemeanor to engage in public lewdness.”

“I’ve hotwired a car today, shot a couple of guys in the foot, and stolen fifty thousand dollars, I think I can handle a minor offense. Besides, it’s only illegal if you get caught.”

Gerard giggles and it’s honestly the cutest thing in the world. I can’t even believe he’s actually here with me. It’s becoming easier to accept that he loves me, but it’s not getting any easier on figuring out why. 

“Um, I don’t want to ruin the moment, but honestly that fucking gear shift is going to get in the way,” I say, and Gerard rolls his eyes at me.

He reaches for the door handle and I say, “No don’t open the door, you’ll let the bugs in!”

“You just want to look at my ass when I crawl into the backseat, Frank. You think I don’t notice things like that, but I do,” Gerard says cheekily.

“Well that was the original idea, but I’ll go first then. Happy?” I ask, and I wiggle around in my seat for a second before pulling my arms up and around the head rest. I pull myself over the seat and I almost fall onto the ground, but I don’t, which is a considerable success for me.

“You had the right idea there, I can see the appeal of going second,” Gerard says, giving me the most innocent little grin I’ve ever seen. That grin coupled with the batting of his eyelashes and I’m almost convinced that Gerard was, in fact, a puppy in another life.

“I think I’m going to keep you,” I say as he pulls himself over the front seat and finds himself practically straddling me, which I am totally up for.

“You’re going to keep me?” He giggles, “Where?”

“I haven’t decided just yet,” I say, and he pushes me down onto the seat so that I’m lying on my back.

“You’re so stupid and attractive, did you know that?”

“I mean, I agree with the first one but we might need to buy you some glasses over the second,” I tell him.

He scrunches his nose and frowns, “Well it’s my opinion, but I know I’m not delusional about that.”

I decide that I’m not an overly big fan of our current arrangement, and by that I mean I want him under me.

I push him up from me and he makes a protesting sound at first, until I pull up with him, and within a few seconds I get our positions switched.

“I still don’t get how you do that,” Gerard says, and I laugh. I do have a tendency to try taking control of the situation. He reaches for the zipper on my jeans, but I slap his hand away and let my body conform to his, so that I can kiss him properly.

I’ve really missed just kissing him without any other agenda. It’s not like we don’t kiss, I just never get time alone where that’s all were doing, and I like it. 

In a lot of ways I feel like kissing Gerard is a million times more intimate then having sex with him. It’s like releasing your self-conscious side and just letting someone really feel you. Sex is just sex, but kissing is passionate and it _means_ something. There’s emotion to it, and it’s all consuming. I’m never going to stop like having sex, because is a superb pastime, but I’m starting to realize that I honestly could care less about what I’m doing when I’m doing it with Gerard. Sex brings me closer to Gerard, makes me really feel him, but a lot of it is just sort of for the physical parts, the actual feeling of it all, and kissing isn’t like that. Kissing fulfills no biological urge, nor does it result in an inevitable euphoria, unless you’ve got the right person. Kissing Gerard really does feel like the preferable thing most days. I can’t get the same satisfaction from a good fuck that I can get in a kiss.

You can have sex with anyone, and within reason, you don’t even need someone else there, but you need someone to kiss. I want Gerard to be the person I kiss for the rest of my life, and I hope I get to be the person he kisses for the rest of _his_ life.

Gerard says, a disgustingly cheesy but very fitting thing as I’m thinking.

“Where have you been all my life?” Gerard asks.

“In the cupboard under some stairs,” I say.

“There’s another reason why I love you. You make the strangest references,” Gerard says.

“Oh don’t be stingy, I know you _find_ it very appealing.”

“Shut up,” Gerard says fondly, wrapping his arms around my neck.

“Make me,” I answer.

“Do you remember what happened the last time you said that?”

“As I recall, I wouldn’t be entirely against that being a reoccurring incident.”

Gerard giggles again, with that heart melting little tone and says, “Well alright then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so unfortunately this is coming to an end soon. Yeah, it sucks but I do need to bring it to a stop before I jump the shark. The thing is, that I have something very special planned for the end, and it’s going to take me a little while to write. I’m not giving anything away, but I think you’ll really like it. So yeah, updates are going to be a little slower, because it’s going to take a lot of time to get this end perfect and special. (It's quite a long ending if that makes up for anything).


	55. Drive My Car (Look at that Beatles Reference)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah this is static, because I'm working on typing the last four chapters which are all vastly important.

“So where do you actually plan on going?” Mikey asks.

“Frank’s got sort of an idea, but mostly just a lot of hypothesizing,” Gerard answers, and they hear him groan through the speaker of the phone.

“Have a little faith in me, please. I haven’t directly steered us wrong, and this last thing was not my fault,” I say.

“Whose fault was it then?” Mikey asks.

“I had a look through the file, and then I burned the part that said how they found us so neither of you will ever know,” I tell him. 

That had pissed Gerard off a little bit, because he’d woken up to me outside lighting a piece of paper on fire. I didn’t want him to blame himself, so I let him believe there was every chance that Mikey was at fault. In all honesty they tracked us down, because of the stupidest, tiniest, most insignificant detail known to man. Hair dye. They tracked us using hair dye. Technically they found us because of the address where Gerard’s brand of hair dye was sent. I’m not even going to pretend to know how they found out what brand of hair dye Gerard uses, and how on earth they managed to look through the system of mail orders to correctly identify which address Gerard’s was being sent to, but that’s a problem for another day.

All that matters is that Gerard doesn’t know how they tracked us down, because if he did, he’d surely blame himself.

“So what’s our plan then?” Mikey asks.

“Well I’ve got an old, um, associate. He’s a... detective if you will. Not necessarily a law abiding detective, but he owes me a few favors,” I say. “I’m going to have him try to recon enough information to nail Banks as the son of a bitch he is.”

“And if Banks figures out who he is?”

“Oh he’s got enough identities,” I shrug, “he’ll be fine.”

I’m very positive my friend will be safe. If you could call him a friend. He’s got more identities then Tatiana Maslany. If I thought for one second he’d be in danger from Banks, then I wouldn’t have brought him in.

“Do I want to ask how you know this man?” Mikey asks.

“You can ask but I can’t promise you a truthful answer,” I say. I like Mikey, he never seems to push too far, and keeps his nose out of places it doesn’t belong.

“Just curious, who would you say he is if I asked?”

“He was my old Pokémon card dealer,” I say.

“Very nice. So what’s he going to do then? Infiltrate Banks’ workplace or something?” Mikey asks.

“Oh you have no clue how people in his business work do ya?” I say, shaking my head. He’s just as clueless as Gerard, though it’s cuter when Gerard is so oblivious.

“I don’t make it a habit of reading up on that sort of thing,” Mikey says.

“Well in any case, I’m going to leave the details of his work out, because you don’t really need to know them. Let’s just say my guy will find the dirt if there’s any solid proof of it. If Banks is as good as he’s trying to make us think, then there won’t be a paper trail, but I don’t think anyone is perfect. I think there’s bound to be something he’s overlooked.”

“So where are we going then?” Mikey asks.

“Hotel jumping, I think,” I say and confer with Gerard who nods his agreement.

“Ugh, and what about our stuff? What we left at the house?” Mikey asks.

“Well it’s still our house there’s probably going to be some salvageable stuff in there, but I can’t be too certain. With things like this they’ll tear everything apart just to piss you off. We’ll collect our stuff if and when we get Banks arrested. For now, just assume you’ll never see it again though,” I say.

“Damn,” Gerard says, “I got you a present for our anniversary.”

I look at him feeling kind of special, “You got me a present? I didn’t know we were doing presents! I’d have gotten you something too.”

“Well it’s gone now. It was kind of irreplaceable I guess, but it wasn’t... I mean it was nothing.”

“Still, that’s so sweet,” I say biting my lip for the millionth time in front of him. 

“You two realize I’m still here, right? I don’t want to hear this shit,” Mikey’s voice says, expressionless as always.

“Shut up, Mikes, I’m happy,” Gerard says.

“Well if that’s all you had to say, then I think you should hang up so I don’t have to listen to your gushy crap. Whenever you’re ready to leave town or whatever, just come pick me up. I’ll be here,” Mikey says, and I hang up a moment later.

“So how come we haven’t asked this guy before now?” Gerard inquires.

“Because I don’t really want to go back and use the connections from that life. Being with you was about starting over, putting the past in the past where it belongs. I mean it’s not like I’ll be doing the dirty work, I just kind of didn’t want to have to go back,” I say honestly.

“Aw, Frankie,” Gerard says, wrapping an arm around me, “You know I don’t mind it.”

“I get that, but that doesn’t make me proud of who I use to be, Gerard,” I tell him, “I hate to say it, but with this part of me, it’s not about you or us, it’s about me. _I_ don’t like who I used to be.”

“I understand,” Gerard nods. 

“So what now?” I ask him, I’m getting tired of being in charge, it’s making my brain hurt. I just want to be a follower for a little while.

“You said we need a car. We should go get ourselves a car. I don’t know where exactly we need to go to do that, but I’m assuming there’s a dealership around here somewhere. It’s a big enough town,” Gerard says, and I nod. It is actually one of the bigger towns I’ve seen in quite some time.

We drive round for about twenty minutes until we come to a very run down car dealership, but at least it’s there at all. Most of the cars look used though, and I suspect that most of them are. There’s hardly any new ones at all, and they all seem to be a little too jaunty or a little too ugly.

Gerard comes upon one that he’s excited about, so I just let him. I don’t know anything about cars except how to steal them. We have a briefcase full of hundreds of twenty dollar bills though, so no pilfering is necessary.

“What is that?” I ask.

“1979 Trans Am, I’ve kind of always wanted one,” Gerard says. He looks elated to have found it, like when you’re at a garage sale and get a really good find for a really good price. Or at a thrift shop and find a really great shirt. 

“I don’t really care,” I say, “but if you like it then I want you to pick it.”

I like seeing him that happy, it’s a good look on him. Most looks are good looks on him though. While excited may be a good one, I think ecstasy is a bit better. It’s not my fault that Gerard’s hot, and what can I say? I like a pretty face.

The guy looks at us suspiciously when we hand over a couple wads of cash, and I just raise an eyebrow at him, daring him to turn us down. He does hold a few of the bills up to the sun as if to show us he’s checking it for signs of counterfeit, but he’s doing it wrong. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for. I had to check that a lot in my old job, and I got shortchanged a couple of times. 

After he decides that the money is real, he makes a show of getting the papers, but we drive out of there an hour later. I grab my big gun, as I’m actually growing quite fond of it. The case was in the trunk so I disassemble the rifle, and stow it under the seat. The revolver is a cheap little thing, but we keep that too, just in case.

Mikey makes a show of disapproval at the choice of car, but he gets in a moment later and we head off down the road to wherever the hell it is we’re going. All I know is that we’re going to find another hotel tonight, and then another, and another, until we’ve got enough stability to assure we’re not being followed. I doubt it this time, because we weren’t being followed last time, I’m just going to make sure we get hair dye from a physical store from now on. We decide that we’ll need to do at least some shopping as all three of us have exactly zero changes of clothes, but I’d rather get away from this town before we do.

Looks like another long day of driving to look forward to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't actually know how many chapters are left it's probably under ten, but I'd say there's still a few. Maybe it's about ten.


	56. There is Not an Avatar the Last Airbender Reference in This Chapter.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Actually there might be.

“Gerard, I really don’t like how close we are to the city. I’d prefer we stayed out of New York if at all possible.”

“Frank, my whole life is here. I’m not asking to go in there, and send up a red flare, I just want to be around it. Near it, you know?”

I say, “I get that. I do, but I’m overly cautious. Gerard, I love you and I’m not prepared to risk losing you. I’ve had too many close calls. It’s been two weeks since Banks ran us off the road, he knows we’re not dead. He will know for sure. He’s going to be even more pissed off now. He’s got two assassins on his hands who can’t walk, and it’s likely he’s going to execute them. Men like Banks would see them as a downed horse, and what do you do to a horse that can’t stand?” I say, “And if you’re a bad man who feels obligated to kill people, you’re going to be pretty damn pissed off. He’s going to get more and more desperate though, and that’s the good thing.”

“How is that good?”

“Well he’s going to do something rash, something desperate. The odds of him slipping up are increasing more by day. He’s gonna do something stupid, and it might be dangerous but he wants us dead, and we’re not.”

“That’s not reassuring,” Gerard says.

“I just... I think this is going to end sometime soon, because if it doesn’t he’ll have lost. No one likes to lose, but how do you think a sociopath feels about losing?”

“So suppose you’re Banks, what would you do now? How would you have tried to find us?” Gerard asks.

“Well he’s not stupid. He’d have looked everywhere for that car. Literally everywhere. We both know he’s not going to find it, unless he’s looking at the bottom of the pond where we left it,” I tell him, “After I did that I’d realize that someone would have needed to buy a car. That’s when I’d do anything and everything to get all the data on who bought cars within a hundred mile radius of the incident. It’s more likely for us to have traveled south, so I’d pay extra attention to the dealerships in that direction. I’d then realize that the people I’m chasing needed to have bought necessities like clothes. I’d try to find any information I possibly could on who went on shopping sprees around the area of any car dealerships, and paid in cash. You’d think that since we paid cash, there would be no record, but there’s an imprint, it’s harder to find, but there’s definitely data there to look through.”

“Wow, you’re really good at this,” Gerard says.

“I’m not done,” I tell him, “I’d then try to find a trail of hotel visits. I’d look for any names that stand out, names that are obviously pseudonyms, or any name being used more than once that leads a trail of hotels. This would be easy to get if Banks has a hacker on his side, and I highly believe he does if he found us once. Obviously when looking through hotels I’d cancel out anyone who stayed more than one night. I would then cancel out anyone who made a reservation in advance. I would then sift through the number of rooms requested. If two people were to check in at roughly the same time, which would lead me to believe that those two people are traveling together, but separately. And single rooms purchased that were exclusive in the time span would then be eliminated. I’d also check anyone who requested two or more beds, or suites. He knows we’ve got cash, so he knows we don’t have trouble there. He’ll assume that you and I don’t need two beds which makes a total of two that we’d need, because it’s safe to assume Mikey isn’t sleeping on the floor.”

“That’s why you made us get rooms with a couch instead of two beds,” Gerard says nodding like he understands, “are you done then?”

“Not quite,” I say, “Then I’d check credit cards, but obviously we haven’t used our credit cards. He’d check our cell phones too, which we don’t have any more either. He’d check anyone who purchased a burner phone around the area where we were attacked, and that’s about all I’ve got then. There’s probably more ways of finding us, but that’s what _I’d_ do. I’m working under the assumption that he’s got either a mole in the police or a very skilled hacker.”

“So how are we safe then? How can we possibly be safe?”

“I have an idea about that actually,” I announce.

“What? Is it dangerous?”

“It’s not particularly dangerous, but there is some amount of risk.”

Gerard groans, “What is it?”

“I was thinking that I’d really like to mess with Banks. Make him sweat. Get him to realize that I know precisely how to keep us safe.”

“So what are you talking then?”

“Credit cards, Gerard. You can trace credit card purchases pretty easily with the times, so what I want to do is drive out a fair ways. Somewhere far off, and away. Then I’ll find a really swanky hotel, something extravagant. It has to have cameras in the lobby, and outside, that’s what I want. I’ll park off down the street a ways away, maybe even the next town over. That’s where I’ll lift a car for a little while, and then pull into the hotel. I pull into the hotel, walk in, make sure to get my face caught by as many cameras as I possibly can, and get a room. I’ll even sign it out under my name, just so he knows who he’s dealing with. From there, I leave him a message in the room. Something like ‘fuck you,’ and I leave. Take the car out, make sure the cameras catch the plates, then I’m going to return the car, get back in ours, and I’ll be on my merry way.”

“What does that do then?”

“It’s going to piss him the hell off,” I say, “and it’ll distract him. It should cost him a few days or more. He’s going to think he’s got himself a lead, and it’ll turn to dust in front of him.”

“I don’t know, Frank. Something could go wrong.”

“ _Or_ we might really piss this jackass off. He might even do something rash like go that hotel himself to see if we’re there. By now he’s realizing his assassins are incompetent. If we push him, beyond his limits he’s going to snap. We need him to snap. We need to get Banks holding a smoking gun. That’s one of the only ways we’re going to be able to nail him at this point. We need hard proof, nothing that can be possibly considered circumstantial, and the only way to get that information is through illegal means. Cops can’t do anything illegal because then the evidence is thrown out immediately, especially if the case goes to court, as you’ll know if you’re familiar with the law. We need absolute proof that Banks is a murderer and the best, hardest proof is a smoking gun.”

“How do we do that without putting ourselves in danger?” Gerard asks.

“Not possible. We’re going to _have_ to put ourselves in danger, there’s no way to avoid that, but it’ll be _controlled_ danger. If my plan works, we need to add one weight after another. We need to pull some pranks on him, get him riled up. Get him to lose his cool composure. That’s when we’ll be able to strike. That’s when we’ll get him red-handed.”

“You’d make a really good spy or something, has anyone ever told you that?”

“Yes, once. It was a really cute redheaded guy who said that to me,” I reply.

Gerard blushes, and I see him bite his lip, “is he prettier than me?”

“Only a little bit,” I answer, and Gerard hits me in the arm. I probably deserved that.

“Who is this guy? Is he taller than me?”

“No. He’s about your height,” I deadpan. 

“I bet he’s got a really good-looking boyfriend,” Gerard says, raising an eyebrow.

“He really can’t complain,” I reply, and Gerard giggles.

“I wouldn’t know what that’s like. My boyfriend looks like a toad.”

“Hey!”

“You had that one coming to ya,” Gerard answers, looking contemptuous. 

“I probably did.”

“So this plan of yours, with the fucking around with Banks,” Gerard begins.

“Yes, what about it?”

“When do we start?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I had originally intended for this to be a really intense chapter that was going to make you hate me, but then I found out my friend is in Minnesota and I haven't seen her in forever so I'm taking about two days off of writing duties because she's staying over. I figured you'd like me better if I did not give you a really intense cliffhanger then made you wait. You will not be receiving (probably) any updates on either this, Fickle Reticence or FBI because I apparently have a social life (it's a surprise to me to).


	57. Where Did the Gerard Go?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are going to get more exciting now, I guess?

“I know that you think you own the place but really, Frank, you think booby trapping Banks’ house with Legos is really the way to go?”

“Have you ever stepped on a Lego, Gerard?”

“I have. It hurts like a bitch, but do you really think that he’s going to just sit down and let you do that? Let you torture him? I know your friend likes picking on him or whatever, that’s why he agreed to put the Legos in the house, but there is such a thing as too far,” he says.

“I’ll stop when Banks has heard my whole message. I want him to suffer, and when you think about it, I’m not really doing that much to him. So far I’ve made him go on a road trip for a faulty lead, I’ve put his feet through some agony, and I also may have put some laxatives in everything in his kitchen,” I tell him.

“Jeez Frank, you are kind of an asshole,” Gerard says, but he doesn’t say it in a mean way. “What else?”

“There’s some more, but it’s not as interesting. Those were my favorites. By now Banks has realized he doesn’t have the upper hand. He knows I have away into his life and he is going to _really_ hate that. This is the beginning of the end, Gerard. I can feel it,” I say.

Gerard looks at me skeptically, “How can you be positive? This has gone on for six months, Frank. Six months! How can you tell it’s ending?”

“I just can, I don’t know. I think that Banks is getting restless and we’re getting more confrontational. He knows he’s not dealing with lifeless objects anymore, Gerard. We’re fighting back, which is something he was not expecting.”

“How can you guarantee the safety of your friend if he’s been sneaking around Banks’ place?”

“You’re not one for the life, but it’s something that you grow good at. He’s the best I know. I don’t even know who he really is Gerard, but I can tell you that he’s good. So many different identities. I call him the Conte, because he’s Italian and he’s respected. Respected in my community anyway. I won’t tell you why he owes me a favor though.”

Gerard nods and he sighs, sticking his head in the crook of my neck. I smile at the contact and kiss the red hair at the top of his head instinctively.

After a while all these hotel rooms start to look the same and I’m honestly being driven crazy by the blandness. Same wallpaper that’s been peeled apart at the seams and also starting to curl up in a yellowing spiral. All of the carpets have little spots and blotches of mysterious little stains in the carpet that are both unsettling and unavoidable. All of the rooms have those curtains that are hanging right above the air conditioner that blows air directly up into the curtains, and decreases their effectiveness by about seventy percent. All of them have that weird hotel smell, and those creepy hallways with the loud ice machines. 

I’m getting a little disgusted by the number of grotesque foreign beds with the same starchy sheets. I want stability really. I want to be somewhere that is going to give me some sort of regularity? I don’t know. I don’t want repetition, I guess what I want is normalcy. I want it with Gerard of course, but this isn’t normal. Running away from unknown threats and trying to hide is not normal. I want stupid mundane domestic stuff. Or more than that, I don’t know. This _is_ New York after all.

“Frank?” Gerard asks, poking at my side, “you were drifting off again?”

“Sorry, I just really hope that it’ll be over soon. I want to have an actual relationship with someone who I can just be with and not have to worry about being killed.”

“Don’t we all,” he says, and I like the way his arm feels around my waist.

“I just... Gerard I want to someday wake u and go to brunch with you. Do something that is so tiny and meaningless, but it would mean so much. I guess I never knew how much I really took for granted, but just walking out on the street, holding my boyfriend’s hand is out of the question.”

“I know, Frankie,” Gerard says and I feel his breath on my neck, “I know it sucks, but it’ll be over someday, and when it is, I’ll take you to the park and we’ll do stupid couple shit that everyone will think is really cliché, but it’ll be perfect because we’ll be there together.”

“You’re cheesy as fuck, but that sounds wonderful,” I say, and he sticks his tongue out at me.

~*~*~*~

Mikey looks up from his place on the couch, moving his head and makes and he exasperated huff, “Where the hell is Gerard?”

“No idea. I didn’t know it took this long to buy shampoo,” I reply.

“Well if he doesn’t get back soon, the sun is going to set,” Mikey frowns, and I shrug. It’s not that big a deal if he gets here after dark, I just wish he’d call. Two hours is way more than it should be. 

Maybe he stopped for something to eat or something. Maybe he’s being neurotic and trying to find a specific type of shampoo that isn’t very common. I just wish he were here instead of wherever he actually.

Maybe it’s hard to find the right store that sells it. Yeah, there’s a reasonable explanation for why he’s not here yet, I’m sure. I just don’t know what it is.

I trill my thumbs against the scoffed wooden table, and my hand traces around the stain of an ancient coffee ring. My feet are starting to become agitated too, and they’re hard to keep still. 

I hadn’t been nearly this worried until Mikey pointed it out, but where the hell is Gerard? It’s been way too long. It’s just shampoo, which should’ve been a twenty minute stop, not two hours.

I look over to Mikey who’s busied himself with his ear buds in, signifying for him to be left alone.

I grab the phone resting on the table, a cheap burner phone so old in model that it flips open. I flip up the phone a few times nervously debating whether I should call him or not. I guess my mind is wondering and I’m being paranoid, but I’m just nervous. I have more of a reason to be nervous under these conditions than the average person. Not everyone can say that they legitimately have to be prepared for likelihood of being murdered, but all three of us have kick-me sign’s on our backs that say just that. 

I quickly dial Gerard’s current number and wait for the dial tone. As soon as I hear it I also hear a buzzing from the bedside table, and I look over to see Gerard’s phone sitting there, vibrating. The small device is moving slightly, being moved by the energy of the vibrations, and I close my phone a moment later, with a groan. 

He forgot his phone. Of course he did, so now I have to wait for Gerard, and he doesn’t have his phone, so there’s no way for me to call him to make sure he’s okay.

He’s probably okay.

Oh god, but what if he isn’t? What if Gerard got ambushed outside of a Walmart and he’s lying dead in a ditch somewhere? What if he got shot again and he’s bleeding out by the side of the road? What if he got hit by a car! What if he’s run away because he didn’t have the nerve to tell me he doesn’t love me?

That last one is preposterous though. Why would he have left Mikey here with me if that were the case? How on earth could he trick me into thinking he loved me for so long if that was true? No, he loves me, I’m practically certain, so that’s not it. But what if he’s fallen out of love with me in the past two weeks and I just haven’t noticed?

I check my watch to see that it’s been half an hour already since Mikey asked me where Gerard was. I’m worrying so much that time is moving faster around me, which is making me even more nervous. 

150 minutes since Gerard left for shampoo. The length of the first Harry Potter movie. The length of the movie Gladiator. Of the Dark Night.

Now it’s been 154 and Gerard still isn’t here. 

“Mikey?” I say, but he doesn’t hear me over the sound of his music. 

“Mikey!” I try again, but still no answer. His feet are hanging off the end of the couch and I can’t see his face, but I see his feet tapping along to the beat of whatever he’s listening to. 

I stand up and walk over to him, then look down at Mikey, lying on his back on the couch. He’s looking up and then sees me, rolls his eyes and pulls out an ear bud.

“Where do you think Gerard is?”

“Missoula, Montana,” Mikey says.

“Mikey, seriously. I’m worried, okay?”

“Why? He’s a big boy he can take care of himself. He’s probably just hanging out wherever. Maybe he found a coffee shop or something,” Mikey says, nonchalantly, and he makes to put the ear bud back in but I grab his hand.

“Mikey this is a big deal. The last time one of us went out and didn’t come back, I got thrown into the ocean and almost drowned. Gerard knows better than to leave us worrying like that. He knows we’re on our toes waiting for him, and since he left his phone here he should be hurrying back, but it’s been two and a half hours, and he’s done no hurrying.”

“He could be right outside that door about to come in,” Mikey says. I pause to look at him, then at the door for a moment and back at him.

“Yeah just outside, thanks for helping my anxiety,” I say sarcastically, and he groans, pulling himself up.

“You’re making a mountain out of a molehill, Frank,” Mikey says, getting up. He walks over to the window and pulls the curtains to the side to peer out.

“No, Mikey, you’re making a molehill out of a mountain.”

“Frank,” Mikey says with an odd tone, that is odd because it actually _has_ a tone coming from Mikey, “something’s weird.”

“Weird? Weird how?”

“The car is still parked outside,” Mikey says, and he looks back at me.

“What do you mean? Why is that weird?” I ask.

“Well the closest town is a few miles out, so why on earth is the car parked outside? Gerard knew it would take a little while to get there, even by car, so he should’ve taken it. But its right there,” Mikey says, and I walk over to look out the window, to see he’s right. The car is still there. Why is the car still there?

Why didn’t Gerard take the car? Where the hell is he, and why didn’t he bring his phone if he knew he wasn’t going to drive.

“Now do you see why I’m nervous?” I ask Mikey angrily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let’s just say this: I don’t think anyone’s going to expect what happens next.


	58. The Wrong Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone’s in danger, it’s just not the person you’re expecting it to be.

“Just think rationally here, okay? I mean he’s alright. He’s Gerard, it’s not like he went wondering off into the distance in search of Cibola. He’s just... I don’t know taking a walk.”

“You and I both know that Gerard isn’t sadistic enough to do that without telling us beforehand. If he’s not here by now, there’s a reason why, and I need to know what it is!” I say, walking across the room back to the table.

“What are you going to do? Go driving around for him?” Mikey asks.

“I don’t know. Yes. Maybe? I might. Where is he, Mikey?”

“If I knew then I would tell you to get you to calm down, but I don’t know so I can’t give you an answer,” he answers.

“But what do you think? Honestly, and don’t you dare sugarcoat it.”

“I think he should be back by now,” Mikey admits, “but that doesn’t mean he’s in trouble! The fact is that I don’t know.”

“Fuck, Mikey. I can’t even... if he’s not okay, I don’t know what-”

“Frank! He’s fine, I’m sure he’s fine. There is no reason to freak out. Okay, Frank, we can go look for him. We’ll go look for him, okay?”

I nod quickly when he options off looking for Gerard, because I do want nothing more than to go out and find him. I don’t like the fact that he’s not here. It’s making my breathing quicken, and it’s coming out wheezy.

“Frank? You good? You’re pacing.”

“What? Sorry, let’s go look for him. I need to know he’s okay,” I say, and Mikey nods nervously. I must look like a complete idiot walking all over the room, randomly. I’m trying to get my mind to focus on one thing rather than the multiple different things that might be happening to Gerard right now. He could have a knife in his stomach right now. He could be having sex.

I shake that thought away. He loves me, he wouldn’t do that. It is a distinct possibility though. I don’t know if I’d rather find him bleeding somewhere or cheating on me though. They both sound pretty awful. I know I’m selfish, I know I am, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love Gerard with all my heart. It would kill me just as much to know I can’t have him as it would to know he’s not even alive. It’s an awful thought, but the despicableness makes it no less true.

“Alright, Frank, I’ll take the car and drive around looking for him, okay? You can go walk around then.”

I look at Mikey who’s eyeing me like I’m about to break something, but I just nod, and head over to the door, not bothering to look back to see if he’s following. 

The door opens into the generic hallway that I walk down quickly, and I hear Mikey following behind me, just not as loudly.

“What are you doing?” he asks, when I get to the car and pull open the trunk.

“I’m getting a gun,” I tell him, when I find the revolver.

“Why?” he asks, “how do you know you’re going to need that? What if you get in trouble with someone? You don’t have a permit or anything to carry that.”

“That’s why I’m not going to shout out to everyone that walks by me that I’m carrying a gun,” I tell Mikey and step away from the car, shoving the trunk closed with a slam that makes me fidget.

“I think you’re being paranoid, Frank. There’s probably a perfectly natural explanation for Gerard’s absence, okay?”

“Then why do you look so scared, Mikes?”

“Because you just grabbed a gun and you’re psyching me into getting all nervous like you!” 

“That’s good, you should be scared! It’ll keep your wits up,” I say, and Mikey gives me an unreadable expression.

“Whatever. You go left, and out down that way,” Mikey points to the road, and then to the other when he says, “and I’ll take that way, towards town.”

“You’ve got your phone on you?” I ask. Mikey nods and I check that I too have a phone with me in my front pocket.

“I’ll call you in half an hour with any updates that I might have, or immediately if I find Gerard. If you see him first call me,” Mikey says, and after I agree I watch him pull the car out of the space slowly with his extra key, and I start off the other way.

There’s a patch of grass on the side of the parking lot, which I walk over quickly and then I venture off down a predominately deserted road. It’s the more residential area because there’s some houses, but they’re not very close together so I guess that the town can’t be very big, though I haven’t actually seen it yet.

The road has a lot more turns then I’d have thought though, and it splits several times making it hard to try and remember which way I’m coming from. There’s a road that lead one way and then there’s another, nearly identical road, leading the opposite way. I don’t know which ones I should take though because I don’t know which ones Gerard would’ve taken if he came down this way.

A few cars drive past me and I can’t help but peer into them, just to be sure that I don’t see Gerard tied up in the backseat or something.

The sun is definitely starting to set, and it forces me to squint into the air around me, because the beams are now directly in my line of vision. It’s almost blinding how little I can actually see because of it, and it’s making me wonder if I’ll be able to find my way back to the hotel when it gets dark.

Mikey calls me thirty minutes later as he’d promised with nothing to report, and says that he’ll call me again in half an hour. He’s driving around town apparently, and he checked the Walmart, but the employees haven’t seen any vibrantly redheaded people. 

“They suggested I look at a Toys R Us but that was before I told them that I wasn’t looking for Clifford the Big Red Dog, but an actual specific human person.”

“How can no one have seen him? His head is a siren! That’s like not seeing Bigfoot walk down your street or something.”

“Well I’m glad to hear you think of my brother as Bigfoot,” Mikey says, “though if we’re going to be totally honest with each other, Bigfoot is far more attractive than Gerard.”

“Shut up, I’ll talk to you in half an hour, or hopefully sooner.”

“I’m going to be heading out the way you are then because I’ve exhausted this part of town. Bye,” Mikey says, hanging up.

“Where the hell could he have gone?” I ask myself looking at the road in front of me. I’ve only got a few minutes, twenty minutes tops, before the sun is gone, and _then_ what do I do?

I groan and look at my feet dejectedly. There’s a hole at the bottom of my stomach, making me feel like all the hope is lost. I’m scared that we’re never going to find Gerard. It’s not a massive area, and there’s only so far he could’ve gone, but it still feels pointless.

I turn around to look at the road and I realize that I have no idea which way I came from. Great so now I’m lost. I look down at my phone to see that Mikey called me ten minutes ago and I’ve just been wondering along until my phone reached a dead zone. There’s no signal here, and I’m going to have to find somewhere that has a signal.

I might as well try to make my way backward because I’m sure Gerard wouldn’t have come out this far. I’ve walked nearly five miles out of town, and he wouldn’t have done that. I practically ran here though, and I’m starting to feel it in my legs. My feet feel tired and swollen, so I’m going to have to head back otherwise I won’t be able to make it there at all.

Maybe I’ll wonder across Gerard somewhere on my way back, though my hopes aren’t high. Mikey will be having better luck then I probably. He’s got a car and he went towards the town which is where I’d have gone if I were Gerard. He’s heading back here though so maybe he thinks _I’m_ having better luck.

I’m not Gerard though and I have no idea what it must be like in his head. He doesn’t think the way normal people do. He’s not even close to what someone would call ‘normal’ and that’s what makes him special. Not exactly ideal given our current circumstances.

A few yards down and my phone only has one bar, and a flashing light at the top says ‘emergency calls only’. I need to get back to a place with bars in case Mikey finds him.

My feet scoff on the black tarmac, and the bottoms of my jeans make ragged sounds at the contact between my heels and the road. The thing about being short is that pants are always too long for you, and the bottoms are always getting caught on things, like the bottom of your shoes.

I look down at my phone to see that there’s three bars now so I’m getting closer, and then I look to see that I’ve missed a call. I knew that someone would call while I was out of reach. Life is ironic like that. 

I press the callback button without even bothering to check the caller ID, because I assume it’s Mikey, hopefully with good news, but the person to pick up is not Mikey at all. It’s Gerard.

“Frank? Where are you?”

“Gerard! What, how... where are _you_?”

“I’m at our hotel, but you’re not here, and neither is Mikey. The lady at the front desk told me there was a store just down the road, and I didn’t need to drive, but I got lost,” he explains, and I let out a sigh of relief. He’s okay, and I’m an idiot. I’m a paranoid idiot. Mikey was right, and I was wrong. I guess I should feel embarrassed or something, but I’m not because I’m too relieved to feel anything else.

“So you’re in the hotel room?” I ask him.

“Yes, I found my way back, but I did royally mess up, sorry. I should’ve taken my phone with me. Now where are you?”

“I’m out looking for you. I guess I got lost too though,” I say. 

“It’s really twisty and confusing out there, I’m sorry I worried you. You’re not mad are you?”

“No I’m just glad you’re alright. Stay there and I’ll be back as soon as I can find my way out of this labyrinth,” I tell him.

“Sure, and where’s Mikey?”

“He took the car to look for you, and headed out to town. Why, didn’t you call him?”

“I did, but he didn’t pick up,” Gerard says. 

“Yeah, there’s a lot of dead zones around here. I didn’t have a signal, that’s why I didn’t answer when you called me.”

“Okay, just get back here as soon as you can, and I’ll try Mikey again,” Gerard says, as I walk quicker down the street. I’m more excited to get back now, because I’ve missed seeing Gerard, even though it’s only been a few hours.

“I will, I hate it out here, it’ll be dark really soon.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I wish I’d just taken the car, or my phone, but I was an idiot. You’re sure you’re not angry?”

“Yeah, positive,” I say, rolling my eyes. It’s cute how much he cares about what I think. I‘ve never felt like anyone actually cared about my opinion before, or valued what I thought.

It’s then that I notice something rather odd though. 

I see a car parked ahead of me on the street, but it’s too far away for me to see if there’s anyone in it, or what type of car it even is. The driver’s side door is open though and that’s why it draws my attention. 

As I step closer I recognize it. It’s our car. The Trans Am. Why is it there? Maybe I won’t have to walk back after all, but why is the door open?

“Hold on, Gerard,” I say, “there’s something weird.”

“What? What’s weird?”

“The car. I see it.”

“Well that’s good isn’t it? Mikey and you can drive back here. It’ll be quicker to get back with a car, even if you do get lost.”

“No, Gerard that’s not it. I don’t think Mikey’s even in there,” I say. I pull the revolver out from my pants and hold it in front of me cautiously. I don’t like the way that the car is just sitting there, not moving, and looking completely deserted.

“Frank? What do you mean? Where’s Mikey?”

“He’s not here,” I say when I’m only five steps away from the car. He’s not here.”

“Why not? Is he taking a leak or something?”

“No, Gerard. He’s not here. Like at all.”

I’m only a few steps away now and I peer around me to make sure that I am completely alone. There’s no one out here, not even any houses for a little ways up ahead of me. Why has the car been deserted in a place like this? There are no places to hide around here though, so I don’t see why it’d be here.

I check the interior of the car, but there’s no one inside, and I peer underneath, all the while Gerard is questioning me on the other end of the phone.

I walk over to the back and there’s nothing in the trunk either. When I get all the way around to the open door I’m more than a little confused, and anxious.

Why isn’t Mikey here? The keys are still in the ignition, but the car isn’t on. It looks like he left in a hurry. Why though? Why did he leave the keys there?

“Gerard, is there a hotel phone you can use to call Mikey?” I ask him.

“What? Yeah, I guess. Why?” 

“Because I need to stay on the line with you in case something is about to happen to me,” I answer.

“What would happen to you? Frank you’re really scaring me right now. Where is Mikey?”

“I don’t know, okay? Just call Mikey for me, and stay there, because I’m a little scared of what’s going on.”

“Shit,” Gerard says, and I hear him walking around, “if _you’re_ scared then something fucking wrong is happening. Hang on, I’m dialing Mikey’s number now.”

I hear the click of old buttons and then he tells me that he’s entered the number and it’s calling.

I hear a faint noise coming from in front of me, near the side of the road and the grass. I walk over to it, and that’s when I see the silver phone lying down in the grass with a blue light telling me that someone’s calling. Other then the generic ringtone I hear nothing else though, and I pick the phone off of the ground.

“Something happened here, Gerard,” I say with a gulp, “Mikey’s phone is right here, but _Mikey_ isn’t.”

Gerard’s breathing stops for a moment and he mutters a string of obscenities, before saying, “get out of there, Frank. Get away from whatever it is right this instant.”

“But what about Mikey?”

“What good will it do if you go missing as well? Get out of there, I’m begging you.”

“I don’t know if I should, Gerard. There could be a tracking device on the car or something waiting for me to lead someone to you.”

“Is that likely?”

“No, but it’s possible.”

“Well then get over here, so that we can sort this out together. Just please, for the love of god, get out of the open!” Gerard pleads.

“There might be a car bomb,” I say, checking the bottom of the car once again. I head over to the hood of the car, but nothing looks out of place.

“Well _is_ there?”

“I don’t think so. I think it’s safe,” I tell him.

“Good, then get out of the area, and get over here this instant. Frank, I’m scared.”

“Okay, okay. Gerard, I’ll be there when I can get there. Something’s happened to Mikey though, and I don’t know what.”

Mikey’s phone starts ringing again, and I sigh.

“Gerard you don’t need to call Mikey again, I’ve got his phone.”

“I’m not calling Mikey, Frank,” Gerard states and I feel my eyes widen as I look down at the second phone in my other hand.

“Hold on a moment, Gerard,” I put the phone between my ear and shoulder, then answer the incoming call on Mikey’s phone.

In a voice that’s shaky and scared I find the nerve to get out the word, “hello?”

“Mr. Iero, I’m glad I could get ahold of you,” a voice says. To be more specific: Banks’ voice says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a scale from one to ten how done are you with all these cliffhangers?


	59. Equalizing Leverage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think you'll like this chapter actually.

“H-hello Banks,” I say.

“Banks? Frank what’s going on?” Gerard’s voice says on the other phone.

“I... what did you do? Where’s Mikey?”

“Good, you noticed,” Banks says.

“I’m not heartless like you, bitch. Obviously I noticed when someone I cared about disappeared.”

“And it upsets you I take it?” Banks says.

I can barely keep myself from screaming right now, but I don’t have the time to just stand here. Banks knows where this car is, I have to get the fuck away from this place, so I hang up the phone with Gerard, after hearing him screaming at me not to. I send a text after Gerard’s voice is silent, and I hope it’s received in time.

“Alright Banks, tell me what you want. Tell me where Mikey is.”

“Why, isn’t it obvious what I want?” Banks asks in a sugary tone, “I want Gerard’s head on a platter.”

“That’s a twisted way of dining,” I say, and Banks makes a forced chuckle on the other end.

“It’s a metaphor.”

“Oh really now? I know that Mikey is a toothpick, but really putting him between your teeth would be a little perverse,” I say, and silence on the other end suggests that Banks has never read The Fault in Our Stars.

“Banks, you’ve been tallying our scores the past few days, you know that I’m not just a little kid waiting to be kicked. I will fight back, and I will not give up. I won’t give up anything until you’re in prison. I will make sure Mikey is alive if I have to kill you myself,” I tell him. My phone buzzes and I look down at it sighing. It’s a good thing I have two phones right now.

“How do you know you’re not too late?” Banks asks, and my heart gets caught in my throat. Mikey’s not dead, he can’t be. I put the car in drive, and I get it moving along down the road, trying to gather my thoughts, but it’s impossible. 

Mikey can’t actually be dead. He can’t be. I’d know. I’d feel it or something. That’s just my imagination speaking though. Oh god, what if I got Mikey killed? That would be my conscience then. 

“He’s not dead, he can’t be. You’re just trying to scare me,” I state, and Banks makes another sadistic noise. I don’t even know if it would be morally unjust to kill this man anymore. He’s such an awful human being, so undeserving of life, that it’s hard to make myself believe it’d be a bad thing for him to die. There’s no real downfall if Banks were to die. Everyone’s lives would get infinitely better, especially Gerard’s.

“What makes you say that? What reason do I have to keep him alive?”

“You need leverage, that’s what you need. You can’t kill Gerard, and I think you’re starting to realize that. It’s impossible for you to even lay a finger on him. Why do you think it’s been so hard, Banks? It’s because he’s defended. He’s not any more of a sitting duck then I am, and it kills you to know that you can’t get to him.”

“And why would that stop me from killing his brother?”

“Because then you’d lose. If you kill Mikey, then we’re _gone_ and you know that. Gerard and I will not escape to a far off part of the state, we’ll go somewhere you can never find us, and you know that. The game you’re playing is not to kill Mikey Way though, it’s to kill Gerard Way. If you let him get away, you’ll have lost, and we both know you can’t have that. You wouldn’t sleep ever again, if you let him escape, so that’s why I know you haven’t killed Mikey. He’s the only thing you’ve got left. Mikey is the only thing keeping you a player in this game, the only piece of power you have, and you wouldn’t just kill him.”

“You’re smart, aren’t you, Iero?”

“You have no idea who I am, Banks. You have no idea what player you’ve introduced to your little game, and it was all an accident,” I say. The car races along the road, and I find myself turning sharply, doing a pretty good job of finding the right way back to the hotel. 

“Do you know who _you’re_ dealing with though? That’s the real question.”

“I’m dealing with a coward. A cheat. A Liar. A scumbag. You’re a child in a world too complex for your understanding. You’re not the kid who sat back during monopoly and kindly let your opponent win, when they’ve clearly won, you were the kid who threw the board in the air and refused to respect that you were outmatched. You’re an abomination, Banks.”

“And what are you, Iero? What are you? A journalist? A queer who couldn’t make it in the real world so you attached himself to someone more successful than him. If you think I’m the loser then you’re wrong.”

I roll my eyes. He’s really reaching, because he knows he’s inferior. I know he’s inferior.

“Sometimes I get really stuck on the psychology of villainy. When we’re little kids we’re always told the stories about good versus bad. You remember them, I’m sure. Tall tales about bad people and good guys, and when we’re little we always root on the good guys, because we know to. We’re only little kids but we’re smart enough to realize that the good guys are who you should be egging on. We all understand that the bad guys, they are bad, they shouldn’t be doing what they’re doing. Even as little kids we oppose the ideals of the wicked. So when we’re all brought up that way it’s hard to believe there’s bad. It’s hard to believe anyone can ever grow into a villain. Surely they know that they’re a bad person, and surely it eats them up because of the abominable nature of their ethics, and yet they persevere with their awful ways and blows my mind. We all grow up knowing what’s right and what’s wrong, so how can we ever trick ourselves into thinking we have the right to be bad? How do we even have bad people? If every kid is told what’s bad and what’s good then how can someone ever grow without realizing that they’ve become a villain? 

“I want you to know that that’s what you are Banks. You are a villain. You’re a bad person, and there is no way to deny that. I don’t care how godly you may think of yourself as, you are wrong. I grew up being taught that people like you were wrong. _You_ grew up being taught that people like you were wrong. Any child knows and can state without hesitation that you are a villain and that villainy is bad. So I guess the psychology of a bad guy is that they’ve lost what makes them human. No human could ever take away another’s life, it’s not in our nature. I just want you to think about that Banks. I want you to think about that when you go to sleep tonight. I want you to think about that when you’re eating your breakfast. I want you to think about that when I find you, and when I save my friends’ life. I just want you to remember that you’re the one everyone roots against. You’re Voldemort. You’re Sauron. You’re the Joker, and you’re Count Dracula. Most of all though, you’re a monster.”

“Well it’s great to know what you think of me, but I am not offended, nor am I all that humbled. I do not think you understand the position I am in,” Banks says.

“Every villain thinks himself the hero of his own story, I suppose. Surely you have to know, somewhere deep inside, that you’re very existence is a contradiction to morality. To peace.”

“I think you’re forgetting one key thing,” Banks says chillingly, “ _I don’t care_.”

“You don’t care? You have no value for human life?”

“It’s not _my_ life, why should I worry about it. I am not a sentimental man, Mr. Iero. I don’t care what you think of me, and the integrity of my childhood wonder is not something I wish to sustain. I am a businessman, not a putz.”

“You have no remorse for those people you’ve killed, Banks? None whatsoever?”

“Why should I? We all die, all I did was ensure their quick demise, they should be thanking me, really.”

“How many people have you killed Banks? How many people have you killed just because they got in your way? How many more lives would you be willing to end, just so that you could get ahead?” I ask.

“You must think of yourself and your friend as special, mustn’t you? Must think I’ve reserved a special punishment for being opposed by you two. I do not put value to human life, we’ve discussed that, but you don’t understand just how little I care. The number of people I’ve killed, Mr. Iero, would blow your mind. Dozens. Several dozen. I don’t care if I add three more to that growing list. It would actually be an honor to see you dead.”

“If you are content in your power-hungry filth then know that I am content in knowing myself above you. I will win in the end, Banks. Surely you know that.”

“Do you actually believe yourself to have the upper hand?” Banks asks.

“I do. I’m sure Mikey is safe right now, and if he isn’t then I do hope you have a firm grip, because we wouldn’t want you dropping any soap where you’re headed.”

“You’ve got a lot of balls to say something like that to me,” Banks says.

“Not necessarily. What I do have is leverage of my own though. We’ll speak soon Banks. Anticipate contact from a colleague of mine,” I say, looking down at my own phone, “because this has been a rather interesting conversation.”

“How so?” Banks asks, with a pompous chuckle.

“It’s the twenty-first century, Banks. Don’t you know that you can record cell phone conversations?” I answer, and then hang up. 

I carefully press in the right number on my phone, while also watching the road in front of me. I hear a click when the recipient immediately picks up on the other end.

“Conte, hey. Did’ya get it?”

“Oh yes. I got all of that,” he says, “I didn’t know people were stupid enough to actually do the whole monologuing thing.”

“Neither did I, but I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth,” I answer, smiling widely. “I was right though. This will all be over soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's going to be at least five more chapters so that I can make a Beatles reference.


	60. Nah, Too Simple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logically this chapter had to come next. I mean, I couldn’t make it that easy, could I?

“Hold on you recorded it?” Gerard asks after hopping into the car. He grabbed whatever he could from our hotel room in one go, but we can’t even afford to waste the amount of time it’d take to check out. That’s not a good lesson for kids, don’t do that, it’s not smart. Buy my book: Obvious Life Tips That You’d Have Probably Been Able to Figure out Yourself by Frank Iero. 

“Yes, but that’s not going to completely cut it, Gerard.”

“What do you mean? We have proof that he’s a murderer. That’s gotta mean something.”

“Yes, it does mean something, but it doesn’t mean we’ve won yet,” I tell him, “see what we now have is something to even the playing field, but you’ve got to understand, that if we tell Banks that we’re going to hand what we know over to the police, then he’s going to have absolutely no reason to keep Mikey alive.”

“What? Yes he does!” Gerard says.

“No, Gerard. He doesn’t. Banks is looking at the _needle_ where he stands. If I turn over the evidence I have against him there’s a chance that he’s going to be put to death, so one more body is not going to do anything to worsen his arrangement. Killing Mikey isn’t going to make him any more or less likely to get the short end of the stick. He’s basically got nothing to lose unless we can bargain with him.”

“Bargain with him? What do you mean by bargaining with him?” Gerard asks, exasperatedly, as I pull us onto the highway. I don’t actually know where we’re going to go, but away from here is a good start.

“I mean exactly that. We have to strike a deal. One way or another we have to save Mikey, but Banks isn’t an idiot. He’s going to know that this is going to be the biggest negotiation of his life. We have a balanced weight on both of our sides. On the one hand, we have proof enough that could get Banks to go to jail for the rest of his life, if he’s lucky. On the other hand he has your brother. If we turn over what we know to the police, Mikey is dead, without a second thought. To get Mikey back we’re going to have to hand over something else that will keep the playing field on even ground, and he’s going to likely ask for the recording, but he knows that we’re going to have a backup copy.”

Gerard nods, trying to understand it all, “so if he knows we have a backup copy that we can turn over at any time, then what’s stopping him from killing Mikey right now. If he knows there’s no way for him to really win, then why does he keep himself playing?”

“Because he’s waiting to see what we option off for the deal. We have a balanced weight, but it is still leaning in favor of us. What we need to do is find ground that is agreeable to both parties. We need to insure Banks’ safety, while also letting him feel like it’s an even enough trade. I don’t know what we have to offer him yet though. If Banks so much as senses disloyalty on our part, Mikey’s neck will be snapped.”

“So what do we do then?”

“Well that’s the question of the hour isn’t it? We’re winning, marginally, but because of the fact that we _are_ winning, Banks is the actual winner.”

“You’ve lost me,” Gerard says.

“Well we have waterproof evidence against Banks, and he knows that now. We have a recording of his confession to several murders, as well as a kidnapping. Because of the fact that we have that, and are currently winning, Banks is, by default, the ultimate winner. He knows that what we have is better than what he has, so he has no real reason other than curiosity to keep Mikey alive. If he decides that we’re untrustworthy, which is his most likely brain process, then he’s going to just kill Mikey and settle with a life in jail. If by some means, he manages to find an ounce of humanity in his head, then he’ll realize that we care more about getting Mikey back then we do about getting him arrested.”

“But I do care about getting Banks arrested, Frank! I really do. He’ll do this to other people and it’ll be my fault in the end.”

“But do you care enough about getting him arrested to lose Mikey forever,” I ask, knowing his answer before he even says it.

“No, you’re right. I care more about Mikey.”

“Exactly, and Banks might not understand that. In the end, if he hands over Mikey, the ball will be in our court for the rest of Banks’ life. We will always be able to hang it over his head that we have something against him. For this we’re going to have to ask for some sort of monthly commission. Banks doesn’t understand human empathy the way you or I do. He’s not going to understand that Mikey’s life is payment enough for us to keep quiet. He doesn’t have that level of emotion in his brain. What he does understand, however, is greed. He thinks that all people care about his money, so he’s more likely to believe that we won’t hand over the recording to the police if he pays us.”

“But we don’t need money, Frank.”

“Yes, _I_ understand that. _You_ understand that, but Banks? He doesn’t understand that. He doesn’t know what it’s like to be a human whose primary function isn’t to earn money. You have to put yourself into his twisted little mind. He doesn’t understand relationships, so asking for money is the most likely way we’ll be able to win this game. Even then, it’s not likely.”

“Not likely? So you think he’s going to kill Mikey either way?”

“I think we are at least in a better position than we were a little while ago, but it’s at the cost of your brother’s life,” I tell him, “if we didn’t have this proof, then he’d have killed Mikey, you and me. Since we have this though, it’s just Mikey.”

Gerard makes a stuttering sound that sounds like a breath, and asks, “So what do you think the odds are that Mikey is going to live?”

“Honestly? Considering the variables, Gerard, it’s not looking good.”

Gerard sniffles, and I don’t look at him for his own privacy.

“I just don’t know what to do, Gerard,” I confess. “I’m doing my best, you have to know that, because I’m really trying.”

“No, I know. It just sucks. It really sucks. I hate all of this. All this shit, I wish it had never happened.”

“I know you do, I know. I’m so sorry it all had to come to this,” I say.

“I wish it weren’t Mikey though. I wish it were me instead, Frank. It’s all my fault anyway. Banks wants me dead. _Me_. Not Mikey.”

“Don’t say that. I don’t want Mikey dead any more than you do, but it is what it is, Gerard. You can’t change what’s happening. You just have to accept it for now.”

“But you agree, right Frank? You know that-”

“No Gerard. You don’t deserve to die. Mikey doesn’t deserve to die, and you do not deserve to die either. Got that?”

“But this is my fault, and you know that. I got everyone roped into this because I’m such a damn fuckup,” he says.

“We’ve had this conversation before, Gerard. I do not think you should be blaming yourself. I don’t blame you, and I’m sure Mikey doesn’t blame you.”

“Fra-”

“No Gerard! I am not going to let you fucking blame yourself. Got that? I’m not going to blame you, and you shouldn’t do that to yourself.”

Gerard makes a grumbling sound, and I sigh, turning the car to the side of the road until we come to a stop. We halt beneath a lone tree standing out in the middle of a desolate landscape near the highway. 

“Why are we pulling over?” Gerard asks.

“Because you’re pissing me off, Gerard. You are not to blame. You are a good fucking person! You are a good person who made a mistake and did something bad, but that does not mean that you are a bad person, okay? I’m a bad person, Gerard. That’s the difference between you and I. You don’t deserve to be so hard on yourself, because you’re not like me. You’ve never killed anyone.”

“I’ve indirectly killed people, Frank. That police officer, Officer Roland. That was my fault,” Gerard says.

“Not really, and he was a bad person anyway. Gerard, you’ve never looked into a little magnifying glass trained on a person’s heart. You’ve never felt your finger squeeze the trigger of a gun, and you’ve never had to live with the fact that you’re a murderer. You’re not a bad person, Gerard.”

“I don’t think you are either,” he says with a quiet voice, “you tried to kill me, so I of all people, should have a very powerful opinion. What I think matters a lot, and I don’t think you’re a bad person at all, Frankie.”

“God, Gerard,” I sigh, shaking my head, “I really hate how much I love you.”

“Things suck right now, Frankie. I’m really glad I’ve got you to get me through this.”

We sit in silence for a few minutes thinking, and I’m just listening to Gerard breathe.

“I’m not going to let him die, Gerard. I won’t let him kill Mikey. Not for anything in the world,” I say, and I mean it. If it has to be done, I’ll die myself in Mikey’s place. I’m just not going to let Gerard lose his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's this one chapter near the end of the fic that is taking me forever to write, but it's so worth it, damn. It's taking up so much time though.


	61. Trade Mistakes? No, Sorry Too Cheesy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negotiations gone awry.

“No Conte, make as many copies as you can. Save them on the computer. Make DVD’s, put it on flash drives, send a copy to your dentist if you want to,” I tell him, though he argues.

“Yes I know that. The thing is that if you don’t make as many copies as you can then Banks is going to try to discredit them as fake. He’ll say they don’t exist if I can’t turn up a copy, I don’t care how long it will take, I want backup. This could save a life, not only my own.”

“Says the murderer,” Conte replies.

“Yes, yes. I know I used to be, but not anymore. Just please do as I ask, there will be incentive for you, just do it.”

“Fine, but how do you intend to bargain with this man if he knows you have backups. We both know that’s not how this game works,” he replies, and I sigh.

I lower my voice so that Gerard can’t hear, “this may be the last time we speak. I’m not afraid of sacrificing myself if I have to, I just need to keep this guy safe. You know I mean business Conte, otherwise I wouldn’t jeopardize my identity in this way.”

“I can get you a new one.”

“I like the one I have, thank you very much,” I answer, and he chuckles, “just do this for me, and that’s all I ask. If you don’t hear from me in five days then take it to the cops. Let the story be heard. Make sure Banks goes to jail. I may have done some awful things in my past Conte, and I know I can never take those things back, but I’m nothing compared to this man. I’m a fucking saint compared to Banks, and so are you.”

“I don’t know that I’d go so far as to say that,” Conte replies.

“You understand the point I’m trying to make though. He’s dangerous. He... he scares me. I’m going to do everything in my power from letting this fire destroy everything, but there might be some serious damage. I’ll try to contain the blast, but I will minimalize the collateral damage as much as possible, and if that means my life, then so be it. I deserve to live far less than the lives I’ll be saving,” I tell him.

“If that’s how you see it,” he answers gruffly, and I sigh.

“Listen, just do as I ask, and remember. Five days,” I say, and he agrees.

A minute later I hang up and walk over to the adjacent room where Gerard is sitting on the bed looking down at his hands.

“What was that about?” he asks.

“Just making arrangements,” I tell him.

“Funeral arrangements might be advantageous at this time,” he says, and I scowl.

“That’s not any way to talk, Gerard.”

“But we both know what’s going to happen, don’t we?” Gerard says. “Mikey’s going to die.”

“No. He is not. I won’t let that happen,” I tell him.

“But you don’t have any power over what Banks does,” Gerard answers not looking at me.

“Yes but I will negotiate. I will do everything to make sure that he stays safe, okay? I will buy us as much time to figure out what to do as I possibly can.”

“What’s your plan then? If Banks doesn’t take our deal, what are you going to do?” Gerard asks.

“I have a few ideas, none that you’ll like. Mikey knows our strategy for if we ever lose each other, okay? He’ll know where to find us on the off chance that he escapes, so don’t give up hope yet.”

“It’s not going to do him any good,” Gerard says.

“Don’t say that, Gerard,” I plead, feeling my chest tighten. I wrap an arm around his waist and I hope that he’s got some faith left in him. Part of me does feel like this is the night before a storm though.

We have a phone appointment as you might call it, with Banks in an hour and that’s basically the road to the future. Whatever happens then is what’s going to happen unless I find some way to change this all. I’m not an idiot though. The odds of Banks complying with our guidelines are so slim that there’s barely even a point in asking. 

If Banks does what I think he’s going to do, kill Mikey and allowing us to hand the recordings over to the police, then I’ll do what I have to do to keep him safe. Banks is a businessman after all. He’ll accept a deal if it’s in his best interest. I don’t see why he’d turn down a substitution, especially since he’s got more of a vendetta against me then he has against Mikey. I’m the guy who put laxatives in his food, and has made his life hell the past few weeks. I’d want me dead if I were him. 

Anything to keep Gerard safe though, and it’s for the best. My life for Mikey’s is more than a fair trade. Mikey’s never killed anyone so I’d say his soul is in more need of saving then mine. Though he does have that icy stare mastered so maybe he’s a hardened criminal in disguise. Somehow I doubt that.

An hour passes in almost complete silence and then Mikey’s phone rings. It’s faint at first but the ringtone seems to louden as I look at the phone on the table in front of me. Neither of us make a move to pick it up, because we’re both waiting on the other person to actually take charge.

When it doesn’t seem like Gerard’s going to do it, I grab the phone and press the answer button.

“Hello,” I say awkwardly. What is a person supposed to say when bargaining for another person’s life over the phone? Yo? Bonjour? Sup?

“Mr. Iero,” Banks says.

“You know that’s so formal, you can just call me Your Highness,” I answer. Got to keep my wit up.

“Mr. Iero,” he repeats.

“Well fuck you too,” I say, and I look for the speaker button before setting the phone back down and looking at Gerard. He takes a breath, and nods at me but grabs my hand. I can just tell both of our hearts are banging violently.

“So we have a pretty even playing field, Banks,” I say.

“That’s moderately true,” he answers.

“I could get you sent to jail in a minute if I wanted to,” I say.

“You’re mistaken if you think that you could. Do you know where it is that I am? Do you know how to find me right now?”

I sigh, even though I knew he’d catch that little ploy. I didn’t exactly think he was stupid enough to overlook something that big, but it was worth a shot.

“You don’t know where I am either,” I say.

“Valid point, but the discussion remains the same,” Banks says, “we both know who holds most of the cards here. I don’t want to be sent to prison, and you don’t want to lose your friend.”

“These things are both true, but as of right now, I have been given no proof that he’s even alive so I’d like that first,” I tell him.

“Why am I negotiating with _you_?” Banks asks.

“Gerard’s right here, but I’m speaking for him,” I respond, and hold a finger to my mouth for Gerard to remain quiet. It’s not like I don’t trust him, I’d just rather conduct this myself.

“Why should I talk to you?” he asks.

“Because I just fucking said so,” I reply, “now give me some fucking proof that Mikey is alive.”

“Fine,” Banks replies, and there’s some shuffling of feet.

“Hey Frank,” Mikey says.

“You sound calm,” I say, “do not tell me where they’ve taken you. They’ll kill you if you say anything.”

“Couldn’t if I wanted to. No idea where I am. It smells like raisins though.”

“And do you like the smell of raisins?”

“There are better smells, still could be worse. Could smell like fish,” Mikey says.

Banks interrupts, “There’s your proof, okay?”

I look at Gerard whose staring blankly at the opposite wall.

“I guess, for now. So Banks, we both know what happens now then,” I say.

“You try to convince me that you’re not going to release that recording to the authorities, I’m not going to believe you, and I’m going to say no to whatever deal you try to make for his life,” Banks says.

“Well you do at least cut straight to the point. I admire that in a man,” I say.

“So I don’t know what this conversation is about then,” Banks says.

“This is about me telling you that you’re an awful human being, but I want to cut a deal anyway,” I say.

“And that would be?”

“Well we both know that whatever I agree to is not a fair trade, because I have damning evidence against you, which I honestly won’t reveal if it’ll mean Mikey’s life.”

“But you know that I can’t believe you,” Banks says.

“Yes, I’m well aware that you can’t trust me, but you should hear me out. I want money too. Monthly. A commission for being quiet.”

“And why should I give that to you?”

“Because you’re looking at death row. I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes right now, and it’s true that I do have more on my side then you on yours.”

“But aren’t you supposed to be the sentimental one? Money? Is that really as important as your friend’s life?”

“The money isn’t nearly as important as his life. I couldn’t care less about the money to be honest, I just figured that you’d be more likely to listen to me if I spoke a language you understood.”

“No, it’s not worth it for me. You’ll always have that over me. It’s a better deal for me to make sure that this deal is as bad for both of us as we can possibly make it,” Banks says.

“Just... please, I mean. God, what do you want? Do you want me to beg? I’ll beg. I will, honestly I will, just don’t kill him. Please.”

“I have no reason to keep him alive,” Banks says and I hear him walking around.

“Please? I mean, what about Gerard’s comic. He’ll stop the comic-”

“Frank-”

“Your brother’s life, Gerard,” I remind him and he nods, and then looks disappointed in himself. “He’ll stop the comic. I swear he will. We just want Mikey to be alive.

“Why should that matter to me at this point? The comic book was just an excuse to get rid of the little brat,” Banks says.

“Watch your mouth, you fucker,” I say and then take a deep breath, “don’t kill Mikey, I’ll do almost anything to get you not to kill him.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

I take another deep breath, knowing that it would come to this eventually. At least I tried all the other alternatives first.

“Trade. _My_ life for Mikey’s.”

“Frank!” Gerard screams.

“No fucking way am I going to let you do that,” Mikey’s voice says though it’s distant.

“It’s a tempting offer,” Banks says, ignoring both interruptions.

“No it damn well isn’t,” Gerard says, and he looks at me angrily.

I groan, and grab the phone off the table, taking it off speaker, and press it firmly to my ear, “That’s my offer Banks. You hate me more then you hate Mikey. I’m the troublemaker, not him. Kill me instead of Mikey.”

“I won’t let you,” Gerard warns me.

“How would this work?”

“We’ll meet up, I’ll be armed, and I’ll be aiming for you. You can be armed to, but I won’t take my gun off you until Mikey is safe. From there it’s up to you, but I get to pick the location where we make the trade,” I tell him. It’s not the best plan, things could easily go wrong, but it’s all I’ve got.

“Seems fine to me,” Banks says.

“I want to do it on the highway. Somewhere Mikey can take the car and drive away from it. That’s all I ask, but if you make any attempt at killing us both then I will kill you without hesitation. If I sense betrayal I will kill you, and then it’s a bloodbath, and no one wants that.”

“Sounds fair,” Banks says, and I don’t know what to make of his tone, because before I can even continue, Gerard grabs the phone from my hands.

“Gerard!” I yell, trying to grab it from him, but he stands up and walks away from my reach. I stand up to grab it from him, but Gerard just gives me a sad stare before running to the door of the bathroom. In a moment he’s inside talking to Banks and the door is locked.

“Gerard!” I scream again. “Gerard open the fucking door, or I swear to god...”

I hear him talking, but I can’t make out his words because of the noise of my hands pounding against the wood, and the muffled layer of the door.

He’s not opening the door though, and I can’t do anything. I can’t just break it down, I’m not the Incredible Hulk or something. I’m not very strong.

“Gerard!” I scream but he doesn’t open the door. Nothing I say gets him to do anything until finally I hear him stop talking and it opens on the other side.

“Gerard,” I mutter, filled with a million different emotions. Anger and fear mostly.

“I’m sorry, Frank,” he says.

“What did you do, Gerard? What did you _do_?”

“I offered up a trade. Same as you did, Frankie,” he says.

“No, Gerard,” I whimper.

“It’s not your battle, Frankie. He’s my brother, I should be the one to die for him.”

“No! Because I was going to fucking do it! I don’t want you to, Gerard!”

He sighs, and looks at me, “it’s too late now. I’m going tomorrow.”

“No, because I’m not going to let you.”

“I can’t just let you sacrifice yourself for me, Frank. It’s my fault, and ultimately my decision.”

“But I can’t... I, we’ve only just met, Gerard. I can’t lose you after I finally found you.”

Gerard shakes his head, “but I can’t live in a world without you, and I can’t live in a world without Mikey either. I’m the one who brought this upon us, I’m the one who’s got to make the tough decisions.”

I exasperate, “But Gerard-”

“It’s my decision. You were going to do the same to me,” Gerard says, and my heart kind of breaks a little because he’s right.

“It’s not fair, Gerard. You get the easy way out. The way that’s over in a few minutes. I have to live with it _forever_ , and I don’t get any relief. I’m not going to let you do this.”

“You’d give that weight to _me_ though,” Gerard says.

“Because I believe you have more of a purpose with your life. You matter, when I don’t. You have more potential than I do, Gerard! People are going to mourn your death, and not just me and Mikes. Lots of people. I’ve got no one. Not really. I’ve killed people anyway, Gerard. I deserve to die either way.”

“No you don’t, Frank.”

“Yes I do!”

“No! But what’s done is done, Frank. I’m going tomorrow, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

I grit my teeth, and try not to cry at the prospect of him dying. That’s what’ll happen, he’ll die. He’s going to die and that’s the most permanent decision a person can ever make. I can’t just rescue him from death, he’ll be gone, and I can’t accept that. It’s too hard. It’s not fair.

“But that doesn’t mean I can’t stop you,” I mumble under my breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "It's four in the morning! Helena, you should go to bed."
> 
> "But there's still twelve songs left in my playlist!"


	62. You Can Say All These Beautiful Things, but They Don't Mean Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is fucking heartbreaking. Legitimately cried a bit writing this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s right, I used a Plain White T’s lyric for the chapter title. Bet you didn’t even realize that until you read this note.

It’s only nine, but it honestly feels like it’s the middle of the night. My body is achingly tired, and I can’t even stand how hard it is to look at Gerard right now. It’s like looking at a ghost. He’s dead, or as good as. It kills me. 

I’ve been in his shoes before. I’ve known that I was going to die soon, and I had to accept that and it was painful. The scariest feeling in the world, without a doubt. There’s no terror like the one of knowing that you’re going to die. Just looking back on the thought makes it hard to breathe. I never want to go through that again, but in a lot of ways, what I’m feeling right now is that exact same thing. I‘m not the one who’s going to be dead, but I feel like I am. It hurts just as much, it just doesn’t feel as imminent.

In a lot of ways it feels like its centuries away when it’s only hours. I’m going to be standing in twenty hours in a similar spot, but Gerard is going to be gone. Death is so eternal, and so unfathomable. I don’t know what I believe, but I do know that I’m not going to see Gerard again after tomorrow. I can’t even picture it, it seems so impossible.

Here I am, sure I’d finally found the one. I finally found the one person who I’d put it all away for, and the guy I’d give anything up for. Knowing Gerard he’d never ask me to give up anything, but I’d have done it. I would, and I wouldn’t have looked back. 

I was going to have a life with Gerard. I was going to sit with him at that stupid hipster coffee shop, and talk about zombies. I was going to ask him stupid questions sitting and drinking coffee and feel like a hopeless idiot because he’s so perfect. I was going to watch the last Harry Potter film with him in the shelter of his apartment, and kiss him until I forgot about the movie. I was going to hang out with Mikey and be nervous to meet his parents. I was going to move into his place, and I was going to watch him earn awards for his comics. I was going to read the newspaper over his shoulder, and make faces at him. I was going to pick out clothes with him and tell him that a pair of jeans made his ass look nice. I was going to wake up on a Monday morning and groan because I had to go to work, but then I was going to smile because Gerard would be right there beside me. I was going to have stupid fights with him over the dishes. I was going to marry this crazy haired bastard, and I was going to have his future unborn adopted babies. I was going to have him.

All the things I was going to do with him is just a despairing reiteration of what I wanted before I got him, but it’s all so much worse than it was back then. Before all of this, I could daydream and imagine a universe where it was true, and there was always that knowledge that it wasn’t impossible. It’s not possible anymore though. I don’t have a future with him at all.

Gerard paces around the room for a few minutes, opening and closing his mouth like he’s trying to find words.

He finally says something, with a meager little voice, “Frank, I was wondering. Because it’s, like, my last night alive, I mean... would you maybe wanna-”

“No Gerard, because I’m pissed. I just can’t right now. I can’t. No.”

“Fine whatever. I’m just going to be dead tomorrow,” Gerard says, his tone switching from nervous to angry quickly.

“God, like that’s my fault? I hate this more than you do, Gerard! Stop being such a fucking prick about it. I’m not going to fuck you just because you’re going to die tomorrow. That’s not why we have sex in the first place,” I say, feeling myself practically boiling with anger. I don’t know why I’m angry at him. Well, I do actually. He shouldn’t have done what he did. He shouldn’t have taken the phone from me, and sold himself out like that. I was going to do it. I should’ve.

I’m not saying there’s any hope of us to come out on top here, but if there is any chance that we’ll be able to save Mikey, I’m the one who’s going to be able to do it. Gerard can’t hold a gun, and surely Banks will see that. I don’t think I can save Mikey _and_ myself, but I’m more likely to than Gerard is.

“You’re mad at me?” Gerard asks.

“Yes, I’m fucking mad at you. No offense Gerard, but I kind of hate you right now, and there’s no chance in hell I’m going to sleep with you. I’ll probably regret that in like twenty years when you’re fucking dead, but I’m just not going to do it. I can’t, and I won’t.”

“Fine, whatever you want Frank,” Gerard says bitterly. 

“What? You’re mad that I won’t put out, when you’re on a goddamn deathbed? Oh well sorry. Next time I won’t be so cruel. Oh wait,” I say sarcastically and Gerard flares his nostrils. There isn’t going to be a next time and we both know that.

“You’re being a jerk about this, Frank. I’m saving your life here. I don’t care what you think, I’ve got more of a reason to take this bullet then you do.”

“Yeah, _I’m_ the jerk. Just completely overlook your own actions. I didn’t ask for a hero, Gerard. I’m not the one who you need to protect.”

“Because everything I do is for you now?” Gerard says.

“Oh please, Gerard. Do not even try to skew this to make me look like the arrogant one. I’m not a child. You’re doing this for selfish reasons, we both know that. You think that this will be the only way for things to work out because you think it’s your fault, like that’s a valid excuse. It’s not, in case you were wondering,” I reply.

“You’re being just as selfish as I am, Frank,” Gerard says.

“But at least I never denied that. I know what I am, Gerard. I’m a horrible fucking human being. I’m a murderer and a thief, and an all-around god-awful example of humanity, but I accept that, and I tried to rectify it. I know that if I were to go there tomorrow and let Banks kill me, that I’ll at least get back some of my soul. So yeah, I am selfish. I’m a bad person either way, but if I were to die tomorrow than that would make it a little better.”

“You’re just... ugh, I think the problem is that you don’t even see any of this, Frank. You’re not seeing it as real. I’m going to die tomorrow, whether you or I or anyone else like it. That’s established, but I’m fine with it. I’ve made my peace with it, and I’m not going to try to pretend it’s not going to happen, because it is. You have to grow up and accept that. You say you’re not a child, yet you behave like one.”

“Yeah so what? So what if I throw a temper tantrum? Huh? I have the right to, you’re going to die, so of course I’m upset! You can say all those words, but that’s all they are, Gerard. Just words. Try to ease my mind as much as you want. Sedate me, console me, give me you’re vacuous blurbs but it doesn’t mean shit. _You are going to die_. Nothing you say is going to make that better. Nothing you can say is going to make me okay with that. I’m not just _okay_ with that.”

“You have to accept it,” Gerard says.

“No, I don’t. Let me live in denial for now, because the only one getting hurt by it is me. In two days I’m going to be here, and you’re not, and that’s not going to make anything better. It’s all going to be so much worse, because,” My voice cracks, and I can tell I really need to just ball my fucking eyes out, “I’m going to have to walk away from this alone. I stepped into this world by your side, I had someone to guide me through this messed up ordeal, and to hold my hand when things got tough. I’m going to have to live, knowing that you sacrificed yourself for me and your brother, and it’s never going to sit in my stomach the way you want it to. It’s always going to hurt. Always. In a lot of ways, Gerard, you’re dying tomorrow, but it’s me that’s going to be really dead.”

“Don’t say that-”

“Say what? Don’t tell you the truth? Don’t say what you already know. I’m the loser here Gerard. Me and Mikey, no matter what, we lose. We lose you. We lose the world. That’s not a sacrifice anymore that’s just a bomb. You’re death is going to be an explosion and I’m never going to run far enough away from the blast.” 

“I’m not trying to be a grenade, Frank. I’m trying to be the white flag,” Gerard says, voice almost as weak as my own was a moment ago.

My strength is renewed though, because I think Gerard is finally seeing what his actions are leading to, “your white flag is just a black one that hasn’t been burned yet.”

“Frank, I... I’m going to die,” Gerard says, sounding so hollow and terrified, making me seriously question the truth behind his statement that he’s made his peace with this. “I’m going to die, and I’m going to die knowing you hate me. I don’t want you to h-hate me. Like, that’s the last thing in the world I want. I don’t want my last thoughts to be that I’m dying for two people who are going to hate me and my memory.”

“I don’t know that there’s anything I can tell you to make you feel better, Gerard, because you’re right. I’m going to resent you for a very long time. Possibly even for forever, and it’s not just something I can pretend isn’t going to happen. I’m going to hate you _because_ of the fact that I’m always going to love you. I don’t want you to have a painful last impression of me, but I’m also not going to lie to you. I will never forgive you for this, and I am not willing to sugarcoat that statement.”

“God,” Gerard says, voice wrecked and agonizing. I watch him collapse onto the bed, face in his hands and I want to comfort him, but the truth is that that’s my future. I can’t do anything to stop it, because I’m going to live it, and I’m not looking forward to that.

Gerard’s just getting started though, that’s going to be the really ugly crying, barely able to breathe, red face, swollen eyes, in just a few minutes.

“I’m going to take a walk, Gerard. I’ll be back later I just can’t be here right now,” I say. I look at Gerard for a few seconds before turning around and walking out of the door. I don’t know where I’m going, and I don’t know why I’m so afraid of being near him right now, but I am, and that’s the truth.

I guess if I’m going to be pitifully honest, I don’t want any of this. I wish I had just killed Gerard that day six months ago. I wish he’d died on the sidewalk that day. Then I wouldn’t have known this life. I wouldn’t have had any of this, I just really wish that none of this had ever happened to me. I don’t want to be in love with Gerard, and I don’t want to give a shit about his little brother. I just wish I’d never met that stupid redhead. I hate caring about what happens to him, because he was only ever meant to be a target. Just a target.

I used to be a skilled assassin. I used to kill people _for a living_. I was never meant to fall in love with someone I was hired to kill. I was supposed to just kill the guy and get it over with. That was always the case, so why did I keep Gerard Way alive?

Still, I wouldn’t change this. I would never take back meeting Gerard. Not for a million dollars or anything else in the world. I’m glad I did miss that shot because meeting this fucking dork is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was depressing as hell. Call this the motif chapter, because look at all those reoccurring allusions.


	63. Famous Last Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helena (because she's an idiot) accidentally uploaded this chapter to the wrong fic, but I fixed it, don't worry.

I don’t know how I ended up at the only bar in town, and I _certainly_ don’t know how I ended up pickpocketing the cop who sat on the bar stool next to me. I didn’t even think before I did it. I don’t make it a habit of stealing from cops, because of course, that is the singular stupidest thing you could possibly do, but he was right there, and I saw an opportunity. I mean there was just such a glimmer of realization in my head, and I didn’t know what to do with it, so I just did what I had to.

I got in real close to the cop, who’s had a few more beers than I had, and I just reached onto the strap around his waist and I grabbed the pair of handcuffs. It wasn’t my original intention in coming to this bar. I just wanted to, I don’t know, drown my sorrows, but I never got the chance. If you’re going to pickpocket a policeman of all people, you really shouldn’t stick around to watch him make the realization. Don’t pickpocket a cop though, that’s stupid, and I _am_ stupid. I only did it because I’m going to be in hell tomorrow anyway, might as well take my chances. If I were to end up in a holding cell then that would have been just as well because I would’ve been able to stop myself from going after Gerard.

These handcuffs though, I have them. They’re real. Actual handcuffs that you use to restrain people. The cop wasn’t on duty, and I highly doubt he’d ever used his gun before, because he didn’t even have the strap on correctly. It’s not my business though. This isn’t a big town, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d never used it. He seemed to have a rousing conversation with some of the other people in the bar which only goes to show you just how small this town is. Still, I think it has couple dozen thousand people, so he might just be a regular at that bar. It’s strange, seeing as this is New York or maybe it isn’t. I’ve lost track of the number of different places we’ve been. I’m not sure where we are anymore.

I don’t know much about what’s going on tomorrow. I know the drop is going to take place on the side of the highway, off a little tangent. From there, I guess they intend to take Gerard and let Mikey go. It’s in Banks’ best interest to just let Mikey go after he has Gerard. I think Banks knows that I’ll do anything to get him back if he were to hurt them both, and my skill in the art of messing with people is not lost on him. He must know that I have allies in this because there’s no way I could’ve snuck into his apartment myself.

I don’t know what Banks thinks of me, I highly doubt he knows I’m the Enigma though, because if he did then he’d have told every cop in New York of that. They want me to be in prison, and have for several years. If Banks knew who I was then the leverage would be more so on his end.

So no I have handcuffs and I need to find a way to stop Gerard from going to that meeting tomorrow. It honestly didn’t occur to me until I saw that cop sit next to me. The thought didn’t even have a semblance of floating into my mind until I saw the shining manacles hanging off his improper belt. I guess it was just a split second realization. I didn’t even think about it as I said, so I find myself standing in the humid whether looking at the small circles, which luckily have a key, otherwise it’d be kind of weird.

I don’t know what else to do now that I’ve left the only populated spot in this whole damn town. Or, more accurately, the only populated spot that can be found within a few feet of the hotel. I check my watch and it’s only been about an hour but I head back anyway, because I am feeling pretty tired.

The room is dark when I enter it so I’m worried that Gerard might be asleep already, and I don’t want to wake him, but I also don’t know what to do now. I didn’t think any of this through. For the first time though I feel like I might be able to save him.

Yes, I know that whatever I said to him about leaving me, and being angry forever at what he did will be true of him in return, but I’m selfish. I am selfish but at least I accept it. I was selfish, when I killed people so I would have money to pay rent, I was selfish when I let myself date Gerard, and I’m selfish in letting Banks kill me for Mikey and Gerard’s life, but now that it’s an option, I’ll do it. I won’t hesitate, because I know that I can’t just move on from this point without Gerard. I’ve dived headfirst into a life that I don’t know how to live, and without him I don’t think I can live it at all.

That’s my way of saying that Frank Iero was dead until he met Gerard Way, and when he met Gerard Way, he killed The Enigma. Without Gerard, I’ll just be The Enigma again. I don’t think I have the strength to really be Frank anymore without Gerard, which is hopelessly codependent of me, but it’s true. If I let Gerard die tomorrow, I’m never going to be Frank again. If I let Gerard die, I’m not going to care anymore. I’d be an assassin again, without hesitation, because I only put that part of me to rest for Gerard. I don’t think it’ll be as hard to kill people after Gerard’s dead, because it’s kind of like my only real link left to humanity would be gone, and there would be nothing keeping me from going off the deep end. Like Dr. Manhattan, there’s really nothing I want from earth other than that one person.

That’s why I’m selfish, but in a lot of ways I think that’s why I’m selfless. I know who I am, and I know what I’ll become without Gerard there to stop me like he did six months ago. I don’t want to be that person anymore, but the heartbreak of losing Gerard would make that the only path left I could take. It’s true, I think that I’d be a monster. I think it would be easy to get over Gerard’s death in that character of mine, because there simply is no human attachment to anyone when I’m The Enigma. I’m just a flame, and I just destroy. That’s all a person of my past can ever really do. I thought I was doing so well, getting away from that, but I haven’t gotten away from it at all. I’ve just masked it with Gerard.

“Gerard?” I whisper, “You awake?”

I hear a mumbling of something nonsensical and then Gerard says, “Frankie?”

I smile knowing that he’s still up, but I don’t know why. I think I just want to talk to him, or something. I miss him already, and I don’t want to.

I set the silver cuffs on the floor, near the edge of the bed, hidden enough by the edge for them to be unnoticeable. It’s dark though, and Gerard’s on the other side so I doubt he’d see them anyway.

“Frank,” he mumbles again, and I pull my shirt and pants off but I don’t bother to do anything else before I just climb in, and grab ahold of Gerard. I never want to let him go again. I wish I could stop the world and make everything freeze so I could stay snuggled up with Gerard for the rest of my life. If I could, then I wouldn’t have anything to worry about. I’d just let us be together forever, but it would still prolong the inevitable. Even Amy Pond couldn’t run away from her responsibilities forever, and I know I wouldn’t be able to either. I wish I could just fly away with Gerard in a big blue box forever though. I could see the entire universe, inside and out, from one end to another, but it still wouldn’t dazzle me as much as one second I spend with Gerard.

“I’m going to miss you more than I’m going to hate you, Gerard,” I say, feeling him relax a little when I get into bed beside him. His back is to me, but I wrap my arms around him so that he is still as close as possible in every way. I used to really hate cuddling when I was younger, or maybe it was just the people I tried cuddling with. It was hot, and sweaty, and completely uncomfortable. There was always that one limb that fell asleep and it would be anything but intimate. This is Gerard though. I’ve known for a very long time that Gerard is a complete inconsistency in my data set. An anomaly, if you will, wherein everything that I know about the world is completely and utterly invalid, because Gerard is not any other human being. Gerard is _Gerard_ , and he doesn’t fit any set of knowledge I could ever have known.

“I don’t want you to hate me when I love you so much,” he says.

“But that’s not something I can control. It sucks, but I told you what I believe to be the truth,” I say, leaving out the part where Gerard dying would kill more than just him.

“You should never have been dragged into this. I know that you’re going to say something like the fact that you’re glad you were, but the song remains the same. I shouldn’t have ever let it come to this, and I’m sorry that it’s so hard on you,” Gerard says.

“I know you are.”

“You should know. I really would do anything to mean this wouldn’t hurt you, but I can’t. I wish I meant nothing to you so that it couldn’t hurt you but-”

“But you mean everything to me, and that’s not in your control to decide.”

“I’m sorry though, for tomorrow. I want to find another way, but I’ve known for a while now that this was how it was going to end. It always had to come to this.”

“A surrender?”

“I guess. I just knew that in the end, my cowardliness would be the death of me, and it is. It’s going to get me killed.”

“I don’t think you’re a coward, Gerard. I think you’re very brave,” I say stroking my hand through his hair. I’m trying to memorize the feel of him, the scent of him. I want to remember what it feels like to be held by him and to hold him because one way or another I don’t think I’ll get the chance again.

“You will move on though, won’t you? You’ll find someone to replace me and-”

“I could never replace you,” I say.

Gerard sighs, “You know what I mean. You’ll find someone though, right? I don’t want you to be single forever just because I’m gone. I want you to move on and remember me, because I don’t... I don’t want to ruin anybody’s life. Especially yours. I get that it’ll hurt for some time, but I want you to grow from this and find someone. I hope you won’t love him as much as me, but I can’t stop you if you do.”

“Would _you_ though? If you were in my shoes, would you be able to move on?” I ask.

“I suppose the proper answer would be yes, wouldn’t it? I’m supposed to say that I’d find someone who I could truly be with that wasn’t you, and I’d always live in your memory, but the truth is that I’m a bit of a hypocrite. I don’t think I could, it would be too hard.”

“So how do you expect me to do the same?” I ask him.

“Well I guess I’m just hoping. Who knows, Frank? Maybe I’m just a stepping stone. Maybe all of this is the buildup to when you really meet your soul mate. Maybe I’m just another brick in the road, a brick that’s a little more important than all the others, granted, but still just a brick.”

“You’re not a step on a staircase leading to my destiny, you’re the top floor. Banks was a step, he hired me to kill you and he brought me one step closer to you, but he was still just a step, _he_ was a brick. He laid out the foundation, but it was you that solidified the whole deal.”

“I’m going to hope no matter what, Frank. I don’t know what comes next, but I’m going to hope you move on from me, because that’s the only thing that’s going to give me peace,” Gerard says.

It takes me several minutes to find the right words to say, but when I finally do, they’re rather grim. In that silence, the only thing to be heard is Gerard’s breathing in and out, because my air is all but gone from my lungs already.

“I dreamt about burying you, Gerard. Seeing you in a coffin, but never like this. That was months ago, when I watched you from a rooftop and saw your bright red hair and thought about the way that your hair would match your blood. I’d thought you were beautiful the first moment I saw you. I even tried to make it a point to shoot you in the chest rather than the head, because I didn’t want to ruin your pretty face. I guess it was stupid of me, but I really cared, even back then. I couldn’t explain it to you if I tried, but there was no way for me to pinpoint exactly why I didn’t want to kill you. At first, I think it was just because I thought you are insanely gorgeous, but I think it’s more so because a part of me always knew. A part of me missed on purpose that day, because I just knew you were gonna mean something to me someday. I guess, I don’t know, I’m probably romanticizing it, but I can’t help but think that something kept me from shooting you when I had so many opportunities. Who I was, The Enigma, he melted away and in his place I found myself again, which was amazing because I thought I was gone forever. I wasn’t though, I was just waiting for you.”

Gerard turns slowly in his place to look at me, and our noses brush. It’s dark so I can’t really see him, but I do see the whites of his eyes, bright against the dark room.

“You know I love you, right? You know I’d do anything for you, and in fact will?”

I nod slowly, and the only indication that I do so is the sound it makes against the pillow.

“Well I just want you to know that you are not what you’ve done, you’re Frank. You’ve done some bad things, but I love every part of you despite that.”

“I hope so,” I say dryly.

“It’s true. Whatever I do tomorrow, remember that it’s because I love you.”

“Same,” I say, but quiet enough so that Gerard can’t hear.

~*~*~*~

“What the fuck?” Gerard says, and I gulp, because here it is. It was inevitable, but it’s still painful to hear.

“I’m sorry, Gerard,” I say honestly.

“Frank what did you do?” Gerard asks angrily.

“I did what I had to do. I have to protect you,” I reply, turning around to look at him. His eyebrows, a dark brown in contrast to the red of his hair, are creased together. It may sound whimsical, or it may not, but I handcuffed him to the headboard. Just the one hand, because I didn’t know how long he’d be there, and I don’t want him to end up having to piss himself. It’s not like pissing in a water bottle is much better, but it’s better than actually pissing oneself.

“Frank! You are going to unlock me,” Gerard states, like it’s a fact.

“I’m not actually. I can’t. I have to go meet Banks.”

“What? And do what? He’s expecting me!” Gerard says.

“Well he’s not likely to complain much if I go in your place. I have to do this, Gerard,” I say bluntly, getting my other shoe on. I look at Gerard, struggling at the restraints doggedly, and I wish I _could_ just unlock him, but that would defeat the purpose. I’ve pushed the bedside table far enough away so that he won’t be able to pick the lock with anything, hopefully, but I doubt he could anyway. It’s not his area of expertise.

“Please tell me you’re kidding!” Gerard shouts.

“No, I’m sorry, but I’m not,” I say, and Gerard kicks the bed under him desperately.

“Frank, you fucking asshole. I’m not going to let you-”

“But unfortunately you have no choice,” I say. “Please stop resisting, Gerard, you’re only going to hurt your wrist.”

“I damn will resist, Frank, you’ve locked me to a headboard! A fucking headboard. Let me out!”

“No!” I say, and frown at him as he takes his free hand and desperately pulls at the steel against his wrist. “They’re real, Gerard. You’re not getting out that easily.”

“Then fucking let me out!” Gerard begs, “This is life and death, Frank. Do you really understand that? You’re going to die unless you let me out!”

“Why do you think I put you there in the first place?”

“Frank, I’ll fucking kill you when I get out of these.”

“I think Banks will do that for you,” I say blandly.

“Frank!” He half pleads half screams.

“I have the key here,” I show it to him, “I’ll leave it in the car, and tell Mikey to unlock you when he gets here. He knows our strategy for if we ever got separated so it will lead him here to you, okay?”

“Frank,” Gerard says warningly, “unlock me.”

I ignore him, and go on, “my friend Conte is going to be tracking my phone, I’ll call him and then keep the phone on so you’ll know where to find Banks and call the police, but it’s probably not going to be a live trace. That’s nearly impossible for him to do with his limited resources, so with the delay it’ll be about an hour behind. He’ll call you with the location as soon as he possibly can, and then you call the police to get Banks arrested.”

“Frank,” he screeches as I walk over to the door and grab the handle.

“From there it’s up to you to get Banks behind bars. I trust that you can do it. Just do what I’ve told you, and it’ll be fine.”

In positively the most desperate, guttural plea that I’ve ever heard, Gerard says my name again.

“I’m not going to see you again, Gerard. You’ll see me, probably. I won’t be in the best of states, probably a bit dinged up, but what can you do?” I say rhetorically, “I’m sorry for everything I’ve put you through. Gerard, I doubt you’ll ever forget me, but everything that I’d say to you was said by you last night.”

“Please. I’ll do anything. I’ll do anything for you to unlock me. Please!” He screams.

“And I’m sure you would. Since this is the last thing you’re probably ever going to hear me say, I tried to rehearse it, but it felt so unnatural to me. These are my last words that will ever be heard by someone who matters and I didn’t want it to sound staged. I guess I’m just glad I met you. I love you, I want that to be something you remember me saying. I hope you the best with the rest of your life. It’s a hope for me that maybe you’ll consider drawing me into one of your comics, but if you don’t then it’s just as well, because I’m never going to know. I want to say something memorable, but memorable has never really been my forte. I’m glad that I was so blessed as to have met you and to have been loved by you, because that’s the biggest feat to my name.”

“No. Please, no.”

I sigh, “I guess just... remember me, kay? Remember who I was, and remember me at my best.”

I open the door despite Gerard’s protesting and then close it behind me, hearing a faint noise that is Gerard on the other side. The noise isn’t that loud though so I doubt anyone will pay any attention to it. I look at the door, behind it is the only person I’ve ever truly loved, and my heart breaks into a million pieces, because that’s the last I’m ever going to see of him. I’ll never look at him again.

I breathe deeply, but the air doesn’t seem to fill my lungs. I’ve made my choice though.

I turn the sign on the door to say ‘do not disturb,’ and then I walk down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stand by my word, this does have a happy ending, even if it seems so impossible.


	64. [Insert Beatles Joke Here]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will you still need me, will you still read me, when I get to sixty four chapters?

My feet don’t want to carry me to the car. It feels like I’m trying to walk with two broken ankles, because they keep flopping ineffectively beneath me. I look at the motel behind me where Gerard is, and I want nothing more than to go back and grab him. Maybe run away with him to Venice or something. It’s true that Gerard, means more to me than Mikey, obviously, but losing Mikey would be just as bad as losing him. If Mikey were to die in place of Gerard or I, then it would be kind of like losing Gerard, but worse. 

I don’t regret what I’m doing, I really don’t, I just wish there was an alternative. I don’t want to die, no one does, not really. I want to live with Gerard and see Mikey on weekends and stuff, but that’s not an option for me now. I’d need a miracle, but I don’t think it’s the time to pray. I’ve never been one to believe in miracles anyhow.

My fingers are shaking so much I’m surprised I even manage to get the car unlocked. I’m likely to just collapse here and now.

Gerard’s going to hate me the same way I was going to hate him. I do believe, with every fiber of my being, that Gerard does have more of a purpose than I do. He does mean more than I do. He publishes a popular comic, and all I am is a washed-up assassin. I literally mean nothing compared to Gerard. If I’m a flame then he’s a bonfire, and I’m not going to let his fire die out. Not now, it’s too early for him. 

I’ve had this coming to me for a long time. I don’t really deserve to have met someone so nice, but I think Gerard does deserve to live. Gerard is for all intense and purposes, a remarkable human being, and the world needs him a lot more than it needs me.

This knowledge is enough for me to stop fumbling my fingers long enough to get the keys into the lock, where I sit down and stare at the wheel for probably longer than is entirely necessary. It’s so hard to move though, knowing that this is it. Once I start this engine and take to the road, I’m as good as dead. I don’t know how long it’s going to take. Surely Banks is smart enough to get things done quickly, but just how quickly is he willing to let me die? Personally I don’t see him as the torture type, but he doesn’t like me very much so that’s always a possibility.

Fuck, when I was younger I was the kind of kid who’d push you in front of me if I thought there was a man with a chainsaw about to attack us. I would’ve sold out just about anyone if there was ever a zombie apocalypse, and I wouldn’t of thought twice about it. I was selfish, and I couldn’t have given a shit about you if it meant risking my own safety. It was always just so stupid to me, like I never believed any of that shit about people risking themselves for others. I was the guy in the horror movie who got the fuck out of the haunted house and moved somewhere else. I was the guy who yelled at the television when some guy made a heroic sacrifice, but look where I am now. 

I’m driving a car onto a highway to save someone else. It’s not even fucking Gerard, it’s Mikey! On a lot of levels I am doing this for Gerard, but I’d say it’s more so for Mikey. Gerard will be alive, and that’s what I want, but it’s Mikey who I am going to save today. I believe in Mikey though. I believe he can help Gerard get over this. Part of me does hope he never gets over me, but most of me wants him to live a happy life and be grateful that I saved him. Mikey will have his brother, and that’s what matters. 

Who am I to Mikey if Gerard is dead? I’m just the guy who let his brother go and get himself killed, and I don’t want to be that. If I’d let Gerard go in my place than Mikey and I would be alive and I’d never be able to look the guy in the eyes. He’s got Gerard’s eyes, maybe not as bright, but still the same. He’d know forever that I could’ve died instead of Gerard. I would be Faramir, and he Denethor. He would always wish I’d died instead, but I will do what I have to.

The day is still early, but the sun has been up for a while. It forces me to squint at the existential road in front of me. It looks so dull and boring, like I couldn’t care less about any patch of road. The sun forces me to see little puddles of water in mirage form when there actually are none, but I don’t pay them any mind. I have to think about all the things that keep me calm right now or I won’t be able to do this. The person that makes me calmest is currently stuck to a headboard and I miss him so much. 

The best feeling in the world, without a doubt, better than eating your favorite meal, better than fucking, better than pissing after holding it in for way too long, is just waking up in the arms of someone you love. Waking up and feeling their warmth in the sheets around you and soaking into your own body. The way they sound breathing in deep and slow, so at peace and unafraid. The way they’ll have an arm around you, and you just know that when they move that arm you’re going to feel so alone and cold, so you make it a point to keep it there as long as you can. The way that they’ll mumble shit in their sleep, or maybe drool, or something else that isn’t typically attractive. Maybe they’ve popped a fucking boner and you feel it, but it doesn’t _matter_ because you’re with them. What I wouldn’t give to be in Gerard’s arms right now.

I’ve said it a million times and I’ll say it a million more before I die, but I really wish, with all of my heart, soul, brain and left big toe, that none of this had ever happened. I wish I’d met Gerard under different circumstances and that I’d be able to live with him for the rest of my life, until I’m an old man, but it’s too late for that hope now. It sucks, but this is my life, or lack thereof.

Gerard had written down the instructions of where to meet on a little note and I follow them to the location. It’s almost half an hour away, but I do finally come to the road I’m supposed to. I take a deep breath, knowing that this is either about to go smoothly or something bad is about to happen.

I grab the phone from my pocket and dial the write number as quickly as I can.

“Is this your funeral procession?” Conte asks in greeting.

“I guess so,” I say.

“Rather grim,” he replies.

“You seem to be pretty chill about it,” I say.

“Well I don’t particularly care either way,” Conte replies.

“It’s lovely knowing my allies are such rays of sunshine,” I say, but I never actually thought that Conte cared about me. He’s just doing this because he owes me a favor, but I do think that some part of him agrees with the fact that Banks deserves to be taken down. He’s not the nicest guy in the world, and is in fact, wanted in seven countries, but his moral compass is straight enough to see that Banks deserves hell.

“You get what you pay for,” Conte says.

“I ain’t paying you a dime,” I reply.

“It’s an expression,” he answers.

“I don’t care what it is. It’s hard to be all happy and bright when I’m about to die,” I say, “oh shit, I think I see them.”

I see a group of people standing in the middle of the road, blocking off the way, and I gulp.

“Alright Conte, get busy tracking this phone. I can’t guarantee how long I’ll be able to give you a signal. Call the police right away when you can, because I may have tied my boyfriend to a bed-”

“Harsh,” he says.

“But call him anyway and on the off chance that he picks up, tell him to call the police as well. I want to just be sure that this bitch gets to go to jail before he has the chance to skip town,” I say.

“Will do, man. I’d say good luck, but I don’t know how much good that’ll do ya,” he says, and I stow the phone away in my shoe, because I feel like that’s the best hiding spot I’ve got.

I come to a stop in front of a group of three men, but Banks is not among them. Mikey is standing in the middle looking bored, but I do think he also looks scared. I analyze our surroundings to see that there’s nowhere for a sniper to have taken position which is ideal. I want Mikey to make it out of this alive and well. The men here probably don’t care one way or another, and my guess is that they honestly don’t care about Mikey. This makes it more likely for them to let him live rather than go through the hassle of killing us both. A big man has a gun to Mikey’s head, and his grip tells me that he’s not afraid to shoot if things go sour.

They’re standing in front of their own car, which is much bigger than this one, and I take a deep breath before I stop the engine, and throw the keys on the seat. My whole body is tense and nervous, as I turn in the seat and get the door open, after grabbing the revolver next to me. I hold it up high and point it directly at the hulking man whose gripping the gun pointed at Mikey’s head.

“Frank?” Mikey asks.

“Yeah, hey,” I say, stepping forward and slamming the door shut behind me. I walk up to stand in front of the two men, who are looking at me intently. The man with the gun is smart enough to know an experienced shooter when he sees one, and I am _definitely_ an experienced shooter. We are both perfectly aware that the other is a good shot.

“We were told to meet a Gerard Way,” the man without the gun says, a not as bulky man with a buzz cut, possibly ex-military. 

“I’m here instead. Trust me, I’m as good a prize as Gerard,” I say. 

The man with the buzz cut studies me for a moment longer before putting a hand to his ear, so my guess is that he’s got an ear piece in that I can’t see from this distance. He turns his back to me, but I don’t shoot him because I know that if there are any loud noises in the next few minutes then Mikey’s brains are going to be scattered on the sidewalk without question.

“He says that the kid is right,” the man says turning to the guy holding Mikey in place. I assume that Banks told him I’m just as good a replacement for Mikey as Gerard would have been, and I sigh in relief, because that would’ve been super awkward if he’d turned me down.

“So you’ll let Mikey go now?” I say.

“That’s the deal,” the man holding him speaks up for the first time. It’s a big booming voice. He’d make a great public speaker. 

“We gonna do it then? Send Mikey this way, and keep your gun on me,” I say. “I’ll do the same with my gun on you.”

“Why are you here, boy?” 

“Right now you’re wondering where I learned to hold a gun, and you’re wondering why I’m here in the place of another, and I want you to put those thoughts to rest, okay? I’m here for one thing and one thing only, and that’s to save this lanky little bastard. My life doesn’t mean much to me, and even less to anyone else. I die, no one cares, but if he dies, there will be backlash, and that’s why I’m here.”

“I can trust you?” the man asks sounding skeptical.

“Look at him,” I say pointing to Mikey, “That boy has never held a gun a day in his life. His noodle arms probably wouldn’t support one. Look at me though, I know how to fire this thing. I’m alone, you can see that. All I want is for him to be safe. As soon as he gets in that car and drives away, I will put my gun down and I will not make any false moves.”

“How do I know you’re alone?” The gun wielding man says.

“I give you permission to check the car,” I say, nodding my head in that direction, “you can make sure I’m being honest, and then we trade.”

“I believe you,” he replies, and his grip on Mikey softens a little bit.

“Then release him, and let him walk to the car,” I say, and he nods his head a little bit.

Mikey looks hesitant to move, but I gesture with my finger that it’s okay. He doesn’t look very keen about any of this, but he does as he’s told, and ever so carefully takes a few steps towards me.

“Hurry it up, Mikes, or they’ll get fidgety,” I say, and Mikey gives me a hateful stare then walks a little faster until he’s just about level with me.

“Gerard let you do this?” Mikey asks.

“What’s he saying?” the buzz cut guy asks.

“I locked him to the bed. Find the hotel, get to the room, and stay there. I put the key to the handcuffs on the key ring with the car keys. Go now before they get curious,” I say, and I jerk my head quickly to tell him to go.

“What’d you say?”

“I hate you for doing this, Frank. At the same time though, thanks. Thank you for loving my brother, and thank you for saving me,” Mikey says nothing more before he’s walking away.

“I just told him where to go to find his brother,” I say, and they look nervous. My hand doesn’t twitch as I aim it at a man whose gun is on me just as firmly. I was so uneasy only minutes ago, but I always feel a little calmer with a gun in my hand. It balances me out, like an extension of my own limbs, and my breath is easy.

I hear Mikey getting into the car, and just like that the engine starts. I don’t dare turn to see what’s going on, but it sounds like he’s getting it turned around. There’s a smattering of dust being throw around in the air, and I’m pretty sure the engine noise is getting softer. I’m glad Mikey didn’t argue too much. To be perfectly honest, the bravest of men would’ve had trouble arguing, I think he handled it as well as he could. There was definite remorse in his eyes, like Mikey would really prefer the exchange never took place, but at least he didn’t get himself killed as well as me.

“Is he gone?” I ask with a gulp.

“Yep,” the big man says, and I turn my head for the first time to look, and sure enough, the road behind me is empty.

I sigh, glad that it went smoothly and look back at the men.

“Fair is fair,” I say, holding my hands up. I start slowly lowering myself down until I can set the gun on the ground. As soon as it’s resting on the pavement, I pull myself back up and kick it their way. With my hands still up, as if I’m being taken in by the cops, I let my neck fall back looking at the sun. It’s not likely that I’m going to die here and now, because I’d imagine Banks wants to be there when it happens, but I’m preparing for it just in case.

“Banks can have me then, and may god rest my soul.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments? Theories? I'd love theories!
> 
> Also why you no comment on the last chapter of Fickle Reticence? These fics are for ya'll as much as they are for me. I'm not angry, but I am a comment whore so I'm a little offended.


	65. Looky Here, Another Cliffhanger? What a Shocker!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank gives a lesson in rare psychological reactions.

“Is there any point in me appealing to your better nature?” I ask after I’m shoved into the car carelessly.

“We all have jobs to do,” the big man says, and I nod, because that’s the answer I’d give in his place. That’s the answer I told myself when I was him. I was never this hands-on, but still.

“I understand, I just wish I didn’t have to die,” I say. “You know, I found the person I’m meant to be with? I don’t know how much they really told you about me, and my friend, or his brother. That guy you just let go though, he’s the brother of the man I’m in love with. I was going to have a life with him. Start a family and shit. Or at least if he’d wanted me, I would’ve had that life, but I don’t have that chance anymore, because I’m here with you.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure you two are marvelous people, and I do understand why you’re doing this. I understand more than most people you’ll meet, because it does make sense, but still it’s a bummer to be on the receiving end. Gotta pay the bills though, right?”

The bigger guy is looking at me with his gun slack on his knee, but it’s still pointed at me. The other guy, the one with the buzz cut, is driving the car. If I were to come up with an escape plan, it would have something to do with stealing that gun from the man’s fingers, but I‘m not _going_ to come up with an escape plan. I’ve been battered through this all so long, that I can’t ruin it all now. This is how the actions have to pan out, and it’s Gerard’s only chance at a normal life, so I’m fine with it. I’m glad in knowing that what happens today is going to be the end of it. It’ll all be over, and I’ll be able to rest. Finally sleep.

“Have either of you had a near death experience before? This isn’t really a near death experience when you think about it, because I’m going to die, but the fear is identical in this situation as when I thought I was going to die. It was actually only a little while ago, I’ve lost track of how long ago it was, but I thought I was going to drown. It was scary, I practically _did_ drown. Had to get out of zip ties by myself, and let me tell you that’s hard to do on any good day, but it’s even harder while you’re underwater.”

Either they think I’m boring and talk too much, or I’m going to touch their heartstrings. I definitely don’t expect it to be the latter, but even though I’ve accepted this, I want to live. Part of me is always going to want to live. Human psychology from back in high school has told me that they’re more likely to empathize with me the more I tell them about myself. I’m trying, but I doubt it’ll work.

“Well anyway, people like you, different models, but still the same, they snatched me and they threw me into the ocean, and it was fucking freezing. Like it was the middle of spring, and it was nighttime so the water was absolutely glacial. I ended up having to wrap my legs around a post under the dock, and I cut myself free with a loose nail in the boards,” I say.

“Why are you saying all this?” the bigger man asks.

“The more you know about me the less likely you are to kill me.”

“That ain’t true,” the guy riving says.

“You ever heard of Stockholm Syndrome, boys? Well if you’re familiar with the concept it’s this sort of psychological reaction that occurs in the mind of a captive, wherein they start to empathize with their captors. It’s usually seen in hostage situations.”

“So?”

“Well it goes both ways. The opposite of Stockholm Syndrome is Lima Syndrome, and it’s much more common than the former. That’s the reaction where a captor starts to identify with their victim,” I explain, looking at the man in front of me casually. It’s not every day that you try to fool someone into caring about you.

“Do you believe either is possible?”

I shrug, “I’ve seen proof of it. Usually it takes a long time to form that kind of a bond though between abductor and victim. You two have to realize though, that I have nothing to lose. I’m going to die with near absolute certainty. The odds of my not dying are smaller than the odds that I am going to die. I have nothing to lose though, so I have to try.”

“You don’t believe you can though?” The man with the gun says, and he train his weapon on me a little more intently.

“If I had more time, maybe I would be able to get you guys to fall in love with my bright personality, but I don’t have enough time, unfortunately.”

“Sorry kid,” the bug man says.

“No it’s fine. I was like you once. I mean, you don’t believe me, and I get that, but I was. It was hard, like I fucking hated killing people. It’s tough. Then I met Gerard and I just didn’t want to hurt people anymore, because it was like, a crude awakening for me. I’d sort of galvanized my soul, and then I met this guy who was just so perfect and I had to change for him. Do you get it? Like killing people sucks,” I say, and the man looks at me skeptically. I didn’t really think he’d believe me but oh well.

The car ride only takes about ten minutes before we’re stopping, and my heart is stuttering. I can’t manage to find a way to keep my breath even.

I kick my foot against the seat, letting the phone fall from my shoe. If wherever we’re going is near this car then that should do the trick. It should still be traceable. 

“Time to go?” I ask, when the man points the gun at me and grunts. “Seriously, you can use your words, I’m going to die. Who am I going to tell?”

“Just hurry up,” he says, and I roll my eyes, but I follow him out of the car. The gun is still on me and there’s no hesitation in his eyes. 

When I step out of the car I come to another big looking warehouse, similar to the one where I was taken last time. I’m starting to think Banks is a giant empty warehouse mogul. That doesn’t seem like the best paying job, but who am I to judge?

“So where to now, boys?”

“Just move forward,” the big guy says.

“What? Are you not going to tie me up? I know I’m small, but I’m quite the contortionist.”

He rolls his eyes, and nudges me forward with the barrel of the gun.

“Oh, I don’t know how much I like you,” I say, “I feel like you’re a little impolite. You could say please.”

“You’re quite the smartass,” he says.

“I’ve been told that before. I never seem to shut up, especially when it’s the worst time possible,”

He says nothing but pushes me forward across the big dark expanse of the warehouse. There are a few doors on the sides, but none that seem to lead anywhere. I’m not looking forward to whatever is about to happen. Hopefully Banks is just going to kill me.

“So is he here? Your boss? Banks. You know, I feel a little guilty that I don’t even know the guys first name. Oh wouldn’t it be great if he were, like, Donald. Or Marvin! Or Sheldon. Oh god, what about Eugene? I’d fucking love it if his name was Eugene.”

I get to the other side of the warehouse. Now I don’t know what comes next, but I’m not going to lie to you, the smartest thing for me to do right now is to make a run for it. I won’t get away, I’m positive of that, but if I run away, I’ll get shot in the neck or something and it’ll be over. Painless, quick, and easy. At this point I can’t rule out the idea that Banks _is_ going to torture me. That’s actually a likely possibility. If I run away now though, then it’s going to be so bad on my pride. I’ll go out with a whimper. I don’t want to go out with a _whimper_. I want it to be a bang. So if I’m going to die, I’m going to die kicking.

“In there,” The guy says, and he points to a part of the warehouse that’s been sectioned off by heavy black curtains. There’s a gap in the folds of the fabric, but I do not want to go through it. I don’t know what I’m going to see on the other side.

“Am I going to like what comes next?” I ask the guy and he shakes his head.

“Should I throw away my dignity and run away now so you can shoot me?” I ask him.

“That’s up to you,” he says.

“No, I’ll keep my head up,” I say, and I step through the barrier to meet what’s on the other side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Muse and Blink-182 both have songs called "Stockholm Syndrome." If you are not familiar with one or both of these songs then you should really fix that.


	66. Make It Rough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because I am a sadist, I tortured Frank.

If you’re familiar with ice water torture than the events of what happen next may not surprise you. If you aren’t than it’s not going to be a pleasant reading.

“Sup bro, it’s been a while. How are you? How’s the wife, and kids,” I say to Banks, almost annoying myself with the sarcasm. Also I cringe a little thinking about how unfortunate it would be if he had kids. I hope Banks doesn’t have kids. I hope his name is Eugene. I hope he is an heirless divorcee named Eugene.

I stumble forward and I’m grabbed by another minion. What, does Banks just grow minions on trees or something? If I go outside is he going to have a garden of big bulky dudes hanging from branches? I kind of want to see that.

“I thought we made a deal, Banks,” I say when I see his smug little face looking at me from a corner in the sectioned off room.

“I have gone through with everything on my end of the deal. I let your friend go safe, and now you are in my possession.”

“The way you say that makes it sound like I’m an object for bargaining. A roll of duct tape or a bag of milk.”

“We’re all objects in the end, Mr. Iero. Just chips in a giant game of poker. And bagged milk?”

“Have you ever been to Canada?”

Bank gives me this look and I don’t know why I even said anything at all. He’s not the kind of man who wants anything to do with small talk. He’s a kind of down and dirty guy, and I’ve got to say, I don’t like that. I don’t respect it. I don’t respect him, and I don’t respect his ugly suede shoes that don’t match his suit.

“So what do you have planned for me today then? Looks fun!” I say, after being thrown to the ground carelessly in front of a large basin. It’s not big really, but it’s big enough to fill with water and then shove a person’s head in. That’s kind of the purpose of it, so it’d better be able to accomplish that much, or he’ll need to make a return to Walmart.

“What’s really the purpose man? I mean, you’ve stalked me for the last six months or so, and now you want to stick my head in a bucket of ice? What purpose are you trying to serve? Seriously what’s the point?”

“I want to know where to find Gerard,” Banks says as if it’s obvious.

“Okay, now I know _that_ violates our deal.”

“I made a deal with Gerard, not you,” he says.

“But you were gonna do this to Gerard?”

“Oh, of course,” he says.

“And how did I know you were going to say that? My powers of telepathy are growing stronger.”

“You never seem to take things seriously,” Banks says, and I feel my good friend, mister minion, who honestly looks like a giant thumb, tie my hands back with a zip tie that I am all too familiar with.

“No, I just find everything hilarious,” I say.

“So you gonna tell me where Gerard is?” he asks.

“I’m going to die dude, either way. Make it hell. Make it so bad I cry for my mom, I won’t tell you where Gerard is. You _seriously_ think I would tell you?”

“I think you’re underestimating my powers of persuasion,” Banks says.

“No, I think you’re underestimating my love of Gerard. I literally let myself get shot for the guy. I would do it again in a heartbeat. That’s why I’m here,” I say looking up at him, where he’s pacing on the other side of the basin. “I don’t care what you do, I will never give him up.”

“You say that now,” Banks says, and he has his minion assistant pull me up close in personal with the basin in front of me. “You going to tell me where Gerard is?”

“Get a fucking life,” I say, and I get the first taste of how I’m going to die.

It’s much colder than the ocean had been. Not as dark though, but I keep my eyes closed, because opening them would make it worse.

I’m pulled up, by the hair, which does not feel good in case you were wondering, before the cold can really sink in. I could’ve held my breath for a lot longer, but I’m not going to complain. My record is 87 seconds, so I should be good.

“Whoa, that’ll wake you up in the morning,” I say, shaking my head like a wet dog.

“Where’s Gerard?”

“Disneyworld,” I say with a wink, and he gestures his hand. I barely get a breath in before my head is forced back into the water.

“Where’s Gerard?”

“I just fucking told you!” I say, “Disneyworld.”

The hand gesture sends my head into the water, and let me say, it hurts about a million times worse the third time than it does the first and second. The minion holds me down for longer as well, so I feel my lungs start to burn when I can’t breathe.

He doesn’t even ask me this time before I’m telling him about the wonderful vacation spot that is Disneyworld. He doesn’t believe me when I tell him that that’s where Gerard is, so in again, and fucking hell it’s starting to burn.

The ears are the worst I think. It feels like my ears are going to fall off. I’ll get hypothermia before that happens, but hopefully I’ll die before it really starts to kick in. I know enough about ice water torture to know that I’ve got about an hour of juice to keep me conscious, and after that I’ll probably be dead. I’ll definitely be unconscious, but really what’s a man like Banks going to do with an unconscious guy, when it’ll be easier to just kill me.

“You know when you think about it, Banks, this is kind of kinky.”

“You’re kind of an idiot,” Banks says.

“Kind of? What do you mean ‘kind of?’ I’m a full on idiot, get your facts straight!”

Being sassy is not going to be beneficial for my ultimate health, but I take it as it comes. It’s getting harder to get enough breath back into my lungs before going under. That 87 seconds is steadily decreasing with every minute that goes by. Soon the most I’ll be able to take is thirty or so. It might get to be even less.

“Do you have...” I say, trying to breathe, but I can’t get enough air, and I can hear my own wheezing, “Do you have like a fetish for water or something? Or am I just special? Always trying to drown me?”

It’s hard to keep my teeth from clattering, but my body is starting to feel the effect everywhere, not in just the places being dunked into water. It’s quite possibly the most uncomfortable thing in the entire world. I want to climb into a fucking furnace, because it’s that cold. My face is on fire, and I’m probably bright red or something.

Part of me is hoping, so hard it’s probably pathetic, that Banks will stall enough for someone to find me. I want him to take so long that Gerard calls the cops and they get here. I want someone to find me, honestly I do. I want to stop feeling the effects of drowning. I do not want to die by drowning. I especially don’t want to die in three feet of water, because that would be so degrading. I didn’t want to drown that day so long ago, and I certainly don’t want to now. 

This time I’m not by myself though. I’m not alone, I have company. I have company who are going to do anything to make this painful for me.

Banks says, “Gerard.”

“Is that a statement or a question?”

I’m shoved down, and pulled back up. I know the drill by now, it’s really rather repetitive.

“Alright, alright!” I say, “That was a question, not a statement.”

Banks rolls his eyes and makes a wave. I barely close my eyes in time. I feel my hair billowing around my face in the water, and it makes my face itch. My face is pretty much numb, but it’s acutely aware of the temperature of the water. It’s the temperature of ‘holy shit that’s cold.’

My hair is pulled back up, and I’m pretty sure the guy just tore a chunk of it out of my head because it sure feels that way.

“Please, Banks. Please,” I say, and his ears perk up, because the tone I give him makes him think I’m going to tell him something. I ain’t gonna tell him shit. 

“Please would you scratch my nose for me?” I say, and his face turns sour at the punch line. I shrug. What else did he expect? 

In again, and I scream into the water, because it’s getting to be too much. I can’t even feel my face anymore. I’m not sure my face is even attached. I could be an actual skeleton right now and I wouldn’t be able to tell.

My suspicion that he pulled a piece of my hair out is confirmed when the water stings that particular part of my head especially.

When I pulled back up I actually see the small billowing of red in the basin. It’s faint and fading, but that’s my blood. That’s disconcerting. 

“Fine,” I say, heaving for breath, “no nose scratching. Rude.”

Another visit to the water, another tug back to earth, and I’m starting to run out of snarky things to say.

“I feel like this is how Jack from Titanic died,” I say, though it sounds strangled, “I’m going to get as many Oscars for this as Leo did.”

“You think this is a game?” Banks asks.

“I think its a little less fun than scrabble, but yes, still a game,” I say.

“I want to know where Gerard is,” Banks says.

“I want a sandwich,” I say.

“Gerard!”

“Actually my name is Frank.”

“Tell me where Gerard is,” Banks demands.

“What will you give me if I tell you?” I ask, but I’m still resilient that I won’t tell him anything.

“Quicker death. Bullet, right between the ears.”

“Okay, sounds good,” I say, “come here, Banks. I want to whisper it in your ear.”

Banks looks at me skeptically, but decides to entertain me. I wait until he’s leaning over the basin enough for me to reach up right next to him.

It’s probably not the smartest thing I’ve ever done, but I stick my tongue in his ear. What can I say? I’m a fucking dick.

I only have a few seconds before he’s pulling me away and pushing me down into the water himself.

This time it’s not only longer, it’s _existential_. It feels like years. Years of hell, and my head is burning. It feels like fire, not ice. I almost forget where I am. I could be a suspected witch in Salem circa 1692, being burned alive. I could be a resident of Pompeii. I could be Mary Winchester.

I don’t actually know how long it’s been, but it’s long enough for me to feel bubbles around my face so I’m probably screaming out, but I don’t recall deciding to do that. I don’t recall much of anything. 

I can’t remember my mother’s first name, or where I was born. I couldn’t even tell you how many fingers I have on my left hand. I can’t feel my fingers at all. I can’t feel any part of my body that isn’t underwater. 

My nose feels like it’s been stuck in an icebox, but it’s not the worst of it. My lungs and throat are burning even more than my face. I try to wiggle my fingers or toes, or _something_ , but I don’t know where they are. I’ve lost them. I’ve lost all control of everything.

Centuries, if not millenniums since I was forced into the water, I’m finally pulled out, and the first thing I see is Banks. His face is redder than mine probably is. He looks like the fucking Kool-Aid man. 

For a minute I’m pretty sure it’s just the sound of my own hacking and coughing, like I’m trying to rid myself of the lungs that are doing little to help me out right now. I hear my own coughing and feel my throat screaming in pain with every one, because it hurts to cough. My chest has been vacuum packed or at least it feels like it.

“Oh thanks for that. Tasted like earwax. Nasty,” I say, though it takes me practically a minute to get the whole sentence out.

“Tell me. This can all be over, if you’ll just tell me where Gerard is.”

“That... easy?”

“That easy.”

“No way,” I say, and really I’m getting tired of this whole ‘sticking my head into the ice cold water’ thing. It’s _so_ five minutes ago.

I want a break or something. I want a break from this so bad, but I’m not going to get one, and I know that. At least the numbness is starting to make it hurt less. I can’t feel anything at all besides a dull aching, so there’s something to be happy about.

“I will break you,” Banks says.

I giggle at him, because I can’t think of anything else to do. The laugh sounds demented and insane, even to my own ears, and it soon becomes a cough, but it gets the message across.

“Never,” I tell Banks, looking up into his eyes. I never noticed before now how his eyes are dark, and black. They look dead. 

“Banks... you’re already deader than me.”

“You are so cocky even at my feet when your death is imminent.”

“I’m always fighting. Fighting,” I wheeze breathlessly, “...fighting for Gerard.”

“Gerard let you come here,” Banks says, getting in real close again to look at me in the eye, “Gerard let you die in his place.”

“No,” I say shaking my head again, though it lolls back because I have barely enough strength to even keep it up. “I chose this. I wanted this.”

“You have a hell of a strange taste in desire.”

“I love Gerard,” I say, and I spit in his face.

Then I’m plunged back into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you love me. Me and my _ice cold_ heart.


	67. If I Just Lay Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerard to the rescue!

It can’t have been more than half an hour since this started when the big guy dunking me into the water throws me against the floor in frustration.

“Is it something I said?” I ask, when my head hits the hard ground with unimaginable pain. I need like a whole bottle of Advil to get me through the aching in my head, and I think I’m on the verge of falling asleep, but I decide to lift myself up to look at Banks. He’s out of focus and kind of looks like a big blob to me, but he’s still got some sort of form in front of me.

Right now, Banks looks exactly the way he had in my dream so long ago. At the time I hadn’t known it was him, but I know now, and he looks just the way he had before. His form is blurry, almost too much so for me to even comprehend him, but he is there, and his face looks like that of a monster.

I’d almost forgotten that Banks has no laugh lines. He only ever smiles when he’s watching someone suffer. I would never tell him, but he’s so scary like this. The way he looks like he’s miles above me, with spindly long legs that could step on me and take my life away. He’s a man of nightmares.

“Don’t you ever shut up?” Banks asks.

“I... no. I’m always talking. I was doing a sardonic narration when I came out of the womb,” I reply.

I’m pretty sure he kicks me in the stomach, but I’m pretty numb all over so I could be imagining it. With my eyes, I see he’s a lot closer to me than he was a moment ago, but the figure is so blurry that it could just as easily be the grim reaper and I wouldn’t know.

“Was uncalled for,” I murmur, grabbing my stomach, because yeah, he kicked me. The way that my breath, which was already coming out painfully, gets even harder is the sign telling me so.

“You’re going to tell me what I want to know. Even if I have to wait all night,” Banks says. I decide not to mention the fact that waiting all night would imply that the cops would probably show up. That could be beneficial for me.

“Where’d the other guy go?” I ask him, when I notice that the little manmade room is empty apart from myself and Banks.

“We’re going to have a little heart to heart, Mr. Iero.”

“Why do I get the feeling that that’s not a good thing?” I ask him, and Banks chuckles.

“Hey Banks,” I say, blinking my eyes, and pulling myself up onto my elbows, “your shoes really don’t match your pants.”

“Is that meant to offend me?” Banks asks.

“You’re rich, you really should be able to match your colors, or at least hire someone to do it _for_ you,” I say, blinking furiously again. My hands are crammed into my back painfully, but I can tell that they’re no longer tied together. I don’t know why they aren’t but I’m sure I’m right. They probably figured that I’m too weak to run away. That might not exactly be untrue, I can’t feel my fingers. I try the best I can to wiggle my fingers, and I think I’ve got control over a few of them, but I can’t feel the others.

The more I blink the more of Banks I can see. I think I’ve gotten down to three or four different versions of Banks instead of several dozen. I can see the hairs on his head, and the black beady color of his eyes. I finally get Banks into one physical form, though it hurts my brain to have to narrow down on it.

My head is throbbing. It’s one of the most painful headaches I’ve ever had, if not _the_ most painful. Drowning really hurts your head and messes your ears up. It feels like I have sludge trapped in my ears, but I can’t lift my hands to get rid of it. 

It’s not as bad as when I got shot though, and that’s good. When I got shot I couldn’t move any of my limbs at all. Right now, I can tell my limbs will work if I just give it a little time, but I’m not sure I’ll have that time because I’ll probably be dead before that happens.

Banks is looking right at me, with his back turned to the curtained wall. I suspect that behind me is the real wall, concrete and hard, but lifting my head is far too hard to check. I want to just lay here, and mumble whatever I can think to say.

“Why are you making this harder on yourself?” Banks asks.

“You call this hard? You should try beating the second quest in Legend of Zelda. Now that is what I call hard.”

“I’m sick of the sarcasm,” Banks says.

“Then I’ll make it a point not to invite you to any of my Thanksgiving dinners,” I reply.

It’s then that I see him. Red hair all over the place. Eyes red and raw from crying, but still so much determination and life in them. He looks a tannish yellow under the light, and I don’t understand it, but he’s there. I see him looking directly at me, but he can’t be here.

Gerard looks like an angel, honestly he does. Maybe he _is_ an angel, maybe he always has been. I blink my eyes a few more times because I can’t be sure he’s really there, but I know he’s not real anyway. Gerard’s just a phantom from my subconscious.

One minute he’s there, and the next he’s disappearing behind the black flowing curtains, and I feel my heart drop a little bit. I want to see him again, see his face, but he wasn’t there in the first place.

“Are you listening to me?” Banks asks.

“I was trying not to, but your voice is very hard to ignore,” I respond. I don’t know how I have the strength to muster up that haughty voice when I feel like a quivering mess right now. I’m so tired, I can barely keep my head up, but I get my elbows underneath me and I’m practically in an upright position by the time that Banks gives me another evil look.

The curtains move behind him and I see Gerard again. My heart sings a little bit, because I love seeing him.

“Gerard?” I ask blankly, I’m not in charge of my vocal chords at the moment.

“That’s what I want to know. Where is Gerard?” Banks asks.

The Gerard that I see, who can’t be there, lifts a finger to his mouth, and I try to figure out why a figment of my imagination is worried about being heard or seen. Why would it care? That’s not Gerard, it’s probably my brain trying to give me one last look at him before I die. That’s kind of sweet, I guess. Death is showing me the beauty of the man I’m dying for. It’s a good reminder, because seeing him makes me feel more rational. I don’t regret dying for him, especially when I’m looking at him. He’s just so perfect to me.

I forgot how pretty he was. Every time I look away from Gerard I forget just how gorgeous he really is. I remember his face, and I remember that he really is beautiful, but when I look back at him, I realize just how much I’d been underselling him. He’s so magical, I can’t believe more people don’t faint in his presence. I fawn all over him, myself.

“Gerard?” I ask again, and he gives me these warning eyes that are very detailed for a daydream, or whatever he is.

“Do you need more convincing?” Banks asks.

“Was that water supposed to convince me? Really? You’re people skills are not up to par, bro.”

The hallucination of Gerard smiles, and I’m glad to know that he appreciates my sass. I see him holding something, kind of long but I don’t know what it is.

Banks is pacing in front of me, looking anywhere but at the Gerard I see behind him. He looks so real and 3-D to me, but I guess that’s just because he’s in _my_ head.

It happens so quickly that I’m not sure if I’ve fallen asleep or if I’m checked into Bellevue. What I see is Gerard, with what appears to be a plank of wood, hitting Banks over the head. He falls almost immediately to the ground, and my eyes follow him from the nearly inaudible whack on the head, to the soft thump on the ground.

“Sick,” I say, because I can’t think of another word, and then I’m aware of Gerard standing right in front of me. I think Banks is actually out cold. That was a good hit.

“Come on, Frank,” Gerard says, grabbing my hand and attempting to pull me up, but I’m like a bag of flour right now. My feet don’t work, and I’m a dead weight.

“Wait, are you real?” I ask, because his hand feels real, and I can feel him. It’s solid, and it’s trying to get me onto my feet.

“What? Yes, of course. Come on, Frank!” Gerard hisses quietly.

“No, you’re not real. I’m dead, aren’t I?” I can’t find a way to reason with myself that he’s real.

He’s whispering but manages to make it seem like he’s yelling. It might just be my headache that makes it sound like shouting though. 

“Frank, fucking hell, stand up!”

“But-”

“Listen to me,” he pleas, trying to keep his voice down.

I frown, and make a moping face, but I let him help me up. I feel like a scarecrow with limbs made of straw, and my feet practically give out underneath me. It’s like they’re made of Jell-O. 

Gerard catches me and that’s how I decide that he’s real and not just a fantasy.

“Gerard?” I ask him, and he nods, getting a hand to support me, rather uncomfortably.

“I gotta get you out of here, Frankie,” he says, when finally both of my feet are planted firmly on the ground.

“He’s not going to stay out of it forever,” I say, looking at Banks, who’s already starting to stir.

“That’s why we have to go,” Gerard says.

I whimper, because he tries to get me to move, but it’s really hard to do anything so physical.

“I’m so sorry to say this, but Frank, you need to move. If you don’t we’re going to die,” Gerard says, and I nod. He’s right, and I hate that he’s right. I need to make sure that _he_ gets out of here. I don’t care so much about myself, but if Gerard dies with me I’d never forgive myself.

“Why are you here?” I ask him.

“Mikey found me, and let me free. Then he told me where they were holding him, and I wasn’t going to let you die all alone, Frank,” Gerard says dragging me to the edge of the curtains. 

“This was very stupid of you,” I reply. “How’d you get in?”

“Side door. I waited until they were distracted, and then I snuck in here. The curtains are two layers thick, you can hide between them.”

“Nice,” I say, nodding a little bit.

“Wait here,” Gerard tells me, and he lets me lean against the real part of the wall, which is solid against my back. He peeks out into the warehouse behind the curtains for a few seconds and then looks to me.

“How many guys are out there?” I ask him.

“Four,” Gerard says, “and the exit is about ten feet away.”

“How close is the nearest guy?” I ask him.

Gerard looks out again and replies, “About five feet away. These curtains are heavy, he can’t hear us.”

“Gun?”

“He has a gun, yes.”

I grab my head, to try to get the banging to stop and say, “okay here’s what you’re gonna do. Take that wood that you used to hit Banks, and whack out the nearest guy, quickly so he doesn’t see you and neither does anyone else. Then drag him through the curtains.”

“What! Why?”

“We need his gun,” I say.

“Why?” Gerard asks.

“They don’t know that Banks is unconscious as of yet, so they’re not going to expect us to put a gun to his head and walk out of here,” I say.

“We’re going to what?” Gerard asks, looking terrified. He really should have expected this to happen, he’s the one who snuck into a place full of men with guns.

“We get ourselves a gun, and we’re made. Just knock him out, pull him in here, and we go from there.”

Gerard’s eyebrows draw together.

“Do _I_ have to do that?”

“Who’s the one with the functioning limbs?”

“Oh shit,” he says.

“You’ll do fine. If you don’t we’re dead anyway,” I say, but that’s really not a pep talk.

Gerard says what I was just thinking, “thanks for the fucking optimism.”

“Hey, I love you,” I say biting my lip and batting my eyelashes.

“Yeah, just don’t handcuff me to anymore beds,” Gerard says.

“Well that kind of nullifies half of my kinks, you might want to reconsider that in the future,” I say.

“I swear to god, if you weren’t so cute, I’d punch you right now,” Gerard says, and then steps toward the curtains again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep delaying these chapters because I don't want it to be over any more than you guys do.


	68. The Penultimate Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s really no words for this one.

“That was fantastic,” I say to Gerard, looking down at the guy he just knocked out. It’s the guy who’d been sticking my head in the water, so I feel no remorse for giving him a possible concussion. Technically Gerard was the one who did the actual concussing though, and I’m proud of him.

“You’re proud of my goon hitting skills?” Gerard asks, picking up the gun that the unconscious guy has clutched in his fingers. Still after all this time, he holds it like it’s a bomb. Then again it isn’t on safety, so I take it from him carefully.

“I’m just proud of _you_ ,” I reply.

“Oh you,” Gerard teases. It occurs to me that we are in a life or death situation with a bunch of big guys with guns literally only a thin layer of fabric away, with two out cold guys at our feet. It might not be necessarily the best time for flirting.

“Do you think maybe we should get outta here?” I ask, and Gerard nods.

“So how do we do this?”

“Well you’re the more stable one, you should probably handle Banks,” I say, and Gerard makes a face. “Get your head out of the gutter.”

“I didn’t say anything!” Gerard says protectively.

“But I could see you thinking something dirty.”

“Well you said that dirtily,” Gerard replies.

“Do you want to maybe try getting this done, because Banks is going to wake up in a matter of minutes?” I warn him, and Gerard seems to have a moment where he remembers where we are.

“Right sorry,” Gerard says walking over to kneel down next to Banks. “What do I, uh... do?”

“Slap him,” I say.

“What?” Gerard questions.

“Slap him, get him to wake up,” I answer. “And cover his mouth. We don’t want him screaming out.”

“This is so weird,” Gerard shakes his head, but he looks at me and asks permission with his eyes. I don’t know what he’s asking me for. I just point the gun at Banks and nod, because I assume Gerard can figure out what to do.

Gerard makes a whimpering sound, but he gets a hand over Banks’ mouth, and then smacks the guy across the face with no mercy. He doesn’t even hold back, and it makes me kind of happy to see the aggression behind it. I mean, I hate Banks, but I have no idea how it must feel in Gerard’s head. I never worked for the guy. I never walked in on him cheating or found out about his massive embezzlement scheme. I’d hate the guy too, though I’ve got to say, trying to kill us takes the cake. I kind of want to punch the guy in the face a few times too.

Banks stirs slowly, and I see the smallest shrug in Gerard’s shoulder and he hits Banks again.

“You’re really getting him acquainted with your hand aren’t you,” I ask.

“I’ve wanted to do that for fucking years,” Gerard answers, and I think Banks is actually starting to wake up now. He didn’t take kindly to being slapped, and I hear the muffled sound of him trying to talk into Gerard’s hand.

“Wakey wakey motherfucker,” I say.

“I should change that to my alarm tone,” Gerard says.

“I’ll record it later if you want,” I answer.

Banks says something that’s muffled by Gerard’s hand. I don’t particularly care what it is he said.

“Okay, Banks. So this is how this is going to go on,” I start, “we’re going to walk out of here with you, and you’re going to be a free pass out of this shindig.”

Banks makes a noise, and Gerard grimaces, “Do not lick my hand again or I will kick you in the nards.”

“No I’ll kick him,” I say.

“Okay, Banks. Don’t lick my hand again or _Frank_ will kick you in the nards,” Gerard corrects and I smile at him toothily. Banks very clearly rolls his eyes.

“Ready to do this?” I ask Gerard after he gets Banks up onto his feet.

“I think so,” Gerard replies.

“One thing you should know before we go, those men out there, they really don’t care about us. They aren’t going to put up much of a fight. Just make sure that you hold the gun to his head and you cannot keep the safety on.”

I say, handing the gun to him. He nods nervously.

“I can’t hold the gun for you, because I need to stand behind you. You’re going to have to be a human shield for me, because if I make myself an easy target then they’ll try to shoot me. I taught you how to shoot a gun, this one is almost the same thing. It’s easier because you don’t have a revolver this time. It’s basically the same thing, but if you hold it with confidence, then you’ll figure it out on your own,” I say. That’s not exactly true, but it’s only a white lie.

Gerard nods and we step out of the curtains.

Gerard’s body stands as a barrier between me and the rest of the warehouse, because my back is facing the wall that’s only a few feet away.

Gerard says a line of stereotypical warnings, but as I’d suspected, none of the people in the room look really all that torn up.

“We’re going to, uh, leave now,” Gerard says, and they don’t even lift a finger. They don’t care, it’s obvious.

“Peace out bitches!” I shout when we make it out of the warehouse easily. Really easy. I’d say it was too easy, but I kind of expected that. I look around to see that we’re in the middle of nowhere essentially. There’s not much of anything around us unless you consider trees as the epitome of scenic.

I lock the door behind us so that hopefully no one is going to be following us out, but there are other doors for them to use if they even care that much.

“In the clear for n-” I start, but Banks was a lot more capable then he’d looked. I don’t know how he manages it, because he’s just been knocked out, but somehow Banks gets himself out of Gerard’s grip and then grabs the gun from his hands. It’s too quick for me to really see what all happens.

Only seconds ago we’d made it outside, and I thought that we were finally going to be able to make a run for it and live, but Banks apparently has other plans. He steps back a few feet with the gun he’d just taken from Gerard, and he holds it at us. He switches who he’s pointing it at quickly, so I doubt he’s a very good mark, but we’re close enough that he could shoot us both easily.

I put my hands up in a surrender, and Gerard looks at me, but does the same. I’d honestly thought we were going to make it, but I guess we don’t always have things go our way. I’ve seen that proved a lot with Banks.

“Fine, Banks,” I say. “Kill me. Kill me! Do it right now, while you still can. I want you to.”

“Is that a challenge? Do you think I’m afraid?”

“I don’t,” I answer.

“Just spare Frank is all I ask,” Gerard says, looking down at the ground timidly.

“Not a chance,” I say.

“You don’t get it, Gerard. I have to kill you. Both of you. Even if I didn’t want to, which trust me, I do, I’d have to kill you,” Banks says.

“Well you’re going to kill me first,” I say stepping in front of Gerard.

“Fine by me,” Banks says cocking the gun menacingly. The click seems to be louder than a gunshot itself. The gun is still pointing at me and I have no desire to be shot again, but I refuse to watch Gerard die. I can’t do that, I’m not that strong. I’m strong enough to pull the trigger, and I’m strong enough to watch the trigger be pulled on me, but I am not strong enough to watch it be pulled on Gerard. I love him far too much to watch that.

“You are not going to die for me, Frank,” Gerard says. “He doesn’t want you, he wants me, just go.”

“Oh now boys, we both know that I can’t let you do that,” Banks says.

“Then kill me first,” Gerard says.

“No, Gerard, that wouldn’t be right. This started with me, I don’t want to have to see it finish as well.”

“Started with you?” Banks asks still trying to sound imposing, but he doesn’t understand anything.

“Yeah, Banks,” I tell him confidently. “This started with me. I’m the reason Gerard’s still alive!”

“And how do you suppose that?” Banks asks, looking all high and mighty.

“Because I’m The Enigma,” I whisper dangerously to him. The look on Banks’ face eclipses surprise. He’s fucking gobsmacked.

“You hired me to kill Gerard,” I state, “and I ended up falling in love with him instead.”

Banks loses his composure for the first time since I’d met him and then tries to pull it back, unsuccessfully, “didn’t see that one coming, did you Gerard? You’re boyfriend wants you dead.”

“I’ve known for months,” Gerard says with a shrug, “but I know he loves me, so at least I win in that respect.”

My heart lifts when I look at the landscape right behind Banks.

“We both know my record Banks. I’ve only ever missed one target in my entire life, but in a lot of ways I didn’t miss him at all. I got him alright, just not in the way I’d expected. But right now Banks, you’re my target, and I will not stop until you’re dead. I will come back as a ghost to see to it that you go to hell, are we clear?”

Gerard smiles passively, and so do I. Banks is really missing quite a view that he’d have a front row seat to, if only he’d turn around. Today is a good day. A day to be celebrated. Banks looks at us, extremely lost for a moment by our new expressions, but it soon turns back into the hate filled look. His black beady eyes leer into me.

“I don’t believe in that sort of thing,” Banks says but he doesn’t sound as confident as he did a minute ago.

“Well then, believe this, Banks,” I say, “I’m not going to haunt you, because I’m not even going to die today.”

“Oh yeah,” Banks says looking all smug again with a smirk on his face. “And why’s that?”

I smile broadly, “turn around.”

Banks’ grin falls and he turns around to the sound of someone raising their gun. I’m a little upset that I don’t get to see his face. I don’t get to relish in the look of horror that covers his eyes when he sees the row of seven police officers standing behind. All seven of them are brandishing weapons aimed directly at Banks. It’s a beautiful sight.

I think that this is what you’d call a smoking gun.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to drop your weapon,” says a cop.

“This gun is registered,” Banks says in an attempt to avoid blame, but it’s obvious that he’s not going to get that.

“Put your weapon down, sir,” the cop says.

Banks shakes his head like he’s trying to reason with god or something. 

“Sir,” the cop says, and all I can do is watch the scene unfold, holding Gerard back cautiously.

Banks turns to look at me and Gerard then back to look at the cops. He then does something incredibly stupid.

“Eat it!” Banks shouts before aiming the gun at a police officer. Not a smart thing to do, for all the viewers at home. Don’t shoot at a cop. They shoot back.

Banks’ hand doesn’t even have a chance to pull the trigger before there’s a bang that most definitely didn’t come from his gun, and my heart stops. I watch the world slow down with precision as the looks of the cops in front of us change. They look determined and a little surprised.

I watch Banks’ back, but I can’t see his face. At first I think that nothing has happened. I think that they missed, and that he’s still going to shoot. Then I see the gun drop from his hand slowly, like I’m in a movie. It’s almost too good to be real.

The pistol drops with a loud clatter that seems to echo, and then Banks’ body is dropping. It’s slowed down and dramatic like in those cop shows, but slowly he falls onto the ground, where his head hits the surface of the ground. He falls onto his stomach while I just watch in awe.

There’s a buzzing around me, because I’m fairly sure that this is all fake. None of this can be real. Gerard and I can’t actually be standing here watching Banks get shot. Still though, even dreams can’t be this magical, that’s got to be unfair.

Then there’s blood. There’s blood soaking into the pavement and I manage to look away for a second to look at Gerard. Gerard’s just as stunned as I am. He looks a little disgusted as well as alarmed, but I’ve seen blood before. I’ve seen lots of blood. Gerard should be more used to it than this though, he did once watch me pass out while covered in my blood. That was a little scary. My guess is that the horror of me dying would have quashed him to that repulsion though.

I’m not dead though, I was shot in a way that spared my life. Banks wasn’t so lucky.

The world all comes back to me when I hear the words, “Medic! We need a medic!”

I’d almost forgotten that this is real and happening around me. Legally, they have to call a paramedic for him, but I know my bullet wounds. I’ve inflicted a lot of those. I know a fatal shot when I see one. I understand entry wounds, and Banks is bleeding far too much for the bullet to still be in his body. Usually if the bullet leaves the body, you’re as good as dead. A bullet clots the bleeding, you live longer if you keep the hole blocked, but Banks is bleeding out, and I just watch.

I look down at him, bleeding on the pavement, mewling like the little twerp he is. I walk closer to him out of instinct, leaving Gerard standing several feet back.

“Hurts doesn’t it?” I say, looking down at him.

“I’m going to have to ask you to step away,” a cop says, trying to get me to step back.

“No, thanks, I’m fine here,” I say, and Banks whimpers looking up at me. “This is what you get, Banks. For trying to kill me, and the man I love. This is what you deserve.”

“I said please stand back,” the cop repeats. 

I look down at Banks again remembering all the times I’ve had to lay down on the ground at his feet. I’ve seen Banks in a dream standing where I now stand. I’ve seen him standing above me when I thought I was about to die, only minutes ago. Right now, I’m standing here, and he’s at _my_ feet. I’m the one watching the life drain from his eyes, and the blood drain from his body.

I know it’s bad that I’m smiling. I know that makes me a little bit of a sadist, but I dare you to be any different in my situation. I’ve waited for this for nearly six months. It’s perfect.

“And somewhere deep inside, you know that. You know that you deserve this,” with that I turn, and start to step away.

Banks tries to open his mouth to say something, but when he does he coughs up blood and no words. Everyone knows he’s not going to make it at this point. It’s just a matter of seconds. He’s dying, and I couldn’t be happier about that. Banks holding that gun at us, is the proof we’ve needed. That gun will trail back to the other conspirators. Those conspirators will all have fun stays in the local prison, doing a stint for failing to kill a comic book artist. They’re going to get some serious shit in the cage.

“One more thing, Banks,” I say, turning in my place, “I just want to thank you. Without you I never would have found Gerard. Thank you. Oh, and have fun in hell.”

Just like that, Banks’ eyes gloss over.

I walk back to Gerard and we stare at each other for a few seconds without words. I wouldn’t know the right ones to say in the first place. I wrap my arms around Gerard, nearly crying into his shoulder, and his arms are tighter around me than mine around him. It’s like he’s holding on for dear life, and I don’t blame him in the slightest.

Banks is dead. 

It’s over. 

We’ve won.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While this is called the penultimate chapter, there are actually two left. I am also excited to say that even though these last two chapters are the end of the fic, it’s not the end of this universe. There’s going to be a side fic as you might call it, that I’ll be uploading soon(ish). It was originally going to be a chapter in this, but it was far too long.


	69. The Enigma’s Anomaly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the end.

“Hey Gerard,” I say.

“Yes, Frank?”

“I love you.”

“I know,” Gerard replies.

We’re currently packing up all the stuff that we’d had to leave behind at the house in the middle of nowhere. It was in surprisingly good condition. It had obviously been torn up a bit, but it’s not too bad. Mikey left for the city already, leaving all the packing up to us, but I don’t really mind.

Thanks to Banks’ death, and the smoking gun in his hand, a grand total of fifteen people have been sent to prison due to me and Gerard. There’s the possibility that there’s more out there, but if there are, I highly doubt they’ll come after us. Everyone in the assassin community has established that Gerard is untouchable. I know that because Conte told me. There’s also a rumor that I’m dead. I don’t know how I feel about that, because on one hand, I did build up that reputation painstakingly. On the other hand however, I’m glad to not be that person anymore.

Everyone in that community knows that I failed to kill Gerard though. That’s a big fucking deal. What they don’t know is that I actually did miss without interference. Given the data set, the logical assumption is that someone is guarding Gerard. That would of course be me, but they don’t know that it wasn’t me at the beginning. I’m not going to correct it though. I still have a little pride left in me, even if I did fall in love with a guy I was paid to kill.

God, I still remember that sometimes. I really did fall in love with him. I was supposed to kill him. It just seems so surreal, and whimsical even. No one would ever guessed that. It’s just so improbable. I’m fine with it though. I wouldn’t change meeting Gerard for the world. My reputation, long past, means nothing compared to him.

“I love you too, you know,” Gerard says.

“That’s good,” I reply, “otherwise that would make the past several months kind of upsetting.”

Gerard chuckles, “no but really. Like I can’t believe that you and I are alive, and it’s all okay. I keep pinching myself. I was so sure that I was going to die. The first time that you shot at me, I had thought that was it. I thought that it was my funeral procession rearing its old head to mock me, but then I met you. You can’t be real. I don’t get how you’re real, but you are.”

“I know what you mean. I’ve never had so many near death experiences crammed into such a short period of time. You’re a pretty dangerous person to be around.”

“Yeah, I know. So are you though,” Gerard says.

“But that’s all a part of the fun,” I say, “our lives are going to be so boring now aren’t they though? Like, we’re not going to be running away from big men with guns anymore. Where’s the thrill when you don’t have to constantly worry about being killed?”

“If that’s your idea of fun then I’m not sure I really want to know what you call ‘scary.’ But I have you now, so that’s where all the excitement I need is going to come from.”

“Awwww. That was so cheesy,” I say, grinning.

“I tried,” Gerard replies.

“I’m going to miss this a little bit though. Part of me just really has a lot of respect for the chase now. I’d never been the mouse either, I was always the cat, and it’s been a really eye-opening experience to get to run away with you.”

Gerard says nothing for a few moments, as he grabs things and stuffs them into boxes. We’ve only really got enough stuff to fill a couple of boxes, but it still requires some effort.

I can’t help but love it though. Watching him doing such a menial task, humming some random tune, and he’s so perfect. His lip is bitten down by his teeth, and his face relaxed. He’s just really pretty, because he’s not doing anything. I love the way he looks when he’s doing nothing, and I love the way he peeks up at me every now and again, but then looks back down nervously. It’s like he doesn’t want me to see him looking at me, even though my eyes don’t waver from him.

“Move in with me, yeah?” Gerard says finally, and I smile.

“I don’t know, that’s kind of a big life decision,” I say teasingly.

“We’ve lived together for the past five months, asshole. Mikey won’t be there though, so it’ll just be you and me. Just say yes!”

“Hm, I’ll think about it,” I say.

“When will I get an answer?”

“Right now,” I say, “Yeah, I’ll move in with you.”

“That’s good,” Gerard nods, “because I love you. Like, a lot.”

“I know.”

~*~*~*~

It feels like it’s been forever since we were last in Gerard’s apartment. It doesn’t look any different. I’m not sure what I was expecting. I was expecting, like, cobwebs and stuff, but it looks the exact same. There’s more dust then there would be if someone had been in here recently, and I am not going to open the refrigerator, but it’s still the same. We got out of here pretty quickly so I’m not going to think about what’s ben rotting in the fridge for several months.

It’s still the same though, and I guess I find that just really refreshing. It’s good to be back somewhere so familiar. So welcoming. I think it’s felt like home for a lot longer than it took for Gerard to ask me to move in with him. It sounds so cliché to say, but really anywhere that Gerard was has felt like a home to me. Shitty hotel rooms weren’t exactly ideal, but they were made brighter by Gerard. It’s not just his bright red hair that has made them so vibrant, it’s his personality. 

I think one of the things I love about him is that he truly doesn’t understand how beautiful he is. I think it might blow him off his feet if he could see himself the way I see him, but I love his modesty. It gives me even more of a reason to keep telling him how much I love him, how perfect I find him.

“It feels kind of odd being back,” Gerard says.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” I say.

“Welcome home?” Gerard says, “No I don’t like that, it’s far too bland.”

“I thought it was just fine,” I reply, and squeeze his hand in mine. He shrugs, but doesn’t say anything. He just pulls me closer to him, and kisses the top of my head. 

I love the subtle things with him. The way Gerard uses such a variety of hand gestures when he’s talking. The way his tongue pokes out of his mouth when he’s concentrating really hard on things. The way he smiles at me when I look at him, the same way that I smile at him.

“I’ll be back in an hour or so,” I say.

“Where are you going?”

“There’s just something I have to do,” I say, “I need to kill The Enigma.”

“I direly hope you mean that in a metaphorical sense,” Gerard says.

“Yeah, don’t worry. I’m not The Enigma anymore so it seems to me that there’s no reason to let the title linger. I want people to know he’s not here anymore. You killed him, Gerard.”

“Should I be proud?” 

“Well I would be,” I say.

“Good, because I am pretty proud of that,” Gerard responds.

“I’ll see you in a few,” I say, walking over to the door.

“But where _specifically_ are you going?”

I roll my eyes at him, “its better that I keep you out of that part of my life.”

“Excuse me, you shot at me. And I think you mean that part of your _old_ life,” Gerard says.

“You’re right, but I’m not going to tell you, because this chapter of our lives is going to be done as of now.”

“How formal,” Gerard says, before I walk back out of the apartment. 

I think I’ve had the desire to do this for months now, but I never had the chance. I hate the fact that my fate as The Enigma is unknown. No one knows what happened to me, and the only person who does doesn’t care. There’s a grand total of three living people who know that I, Frank Iero, am The Enigma. One of them is myself, another is Gerard, and the last is Conte, but to be honest, I don’t think he even knows my real name. If he doesn’t it wouldn't be that hard to figure out, because he knows I’m dating Gerard, but he’s not a sentimental man.

I make my way to a slumming part of town, that I am no stranger to. One quick stop in a small shop, and then I find myself standing in an empty alleyway with my hood up, and head down.

I look at the bare wall. This is where I made most of my dead drops as The Enigma. I had a variety of wire transfers too, but I’ve seen this wall too many times than I’d wish. People dropped my money underneath the dumpster against the wall, and this location will probably be used similarly long after I’m dead.

I make my work quick, not wanting to be seen here. I shake the can of spray paint in my hand, which I just bought, and get to work.

‘The Enigma is dead,’ I write in scrolling letters. It’s thanks to Gerard that I’m dead. He did a good job. He’s pretty extraordinary. I still don’t understand Gerard. I guess that makes him such an irregularity. He’s _my_ irregularity though. My anomaly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the epilogue is next, but yeah, that's it.


	70. Epilogue: Or the One Where Two Fucking Dorks Are Being Fucking Adorable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin. No, but seriously, I'm crying uploading this because I can't believe this is it.

“Frank, do you know when our reservation is for?” Gerard calls to me.

“Hell if I know, you’re the one who made it,” I shout back.

“Shit,” I hear him say and he walks into the room, then looks at me sitting at the dining room table. “You know I was thinking that I’d kind of just like to blow it off. I don’t want to go to some fancy restaurant.”

“Is it because last anniversary we had our car get chased into a tree and we ran through the forest for a couple of hours?”

“That’s partially why I don’t want to, yes,” Gerard nods, and takes a seat in the chair next to me. He peers around at the laptop screen in front of me, and I roll my eyes.

“So you don’t care about fancy dining on our anniversary? One whole year!” I joke, and he shakes his head drowsily.

“It’s only as special as the person I’m spending it with,” Gerard says and I gag at the cheesiness of his words. “No really! I mean I’d rather stay here and eat pizza while watching movies than go to some snooty high class restaurant with portions the size of my pinky finger.”

I frown and look at him, putting the laptop screen down to look at him better, “You know, if I’m going to be completely honest, pizza sounds fantastic.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I nod. He grins, and I entwine my foot with his under the table playfully.

It doesn’t matter to me what we do, as long as he’s there. I just like it when he’s there, and being lovable, but that really doesn’t take much effort for him. He just needs to breathe. I’ve always liked lazy days though, because no one judges you when you decide not to put pants on. Actually sometimes the best things happen when you _don’t_ have pants on.

I like making faces at him across this table. He always rolls his eyes at me, and tries to ignore me, but then he’ll look up and laugh. I like making Gerard laugh, it’s my favorite thing in the world. He’s got the cutest little giggle. He then proceeds to make faces back at me and it makes me remember why I fell in love with him.

“We should watch the last Harry Potter movie,” I say.

“Why?”

“No reason,” I say with a shrug.

An hour later I do manage to convince Gerard to watch Harry Potter. It’s important to me that we watch it, and I make out with him to the point where I forget we’re watching it. That’s one of the things I most want to do with my life.

“You’re kinda cute,” I say.

“Kinda?”

“I don’t want you getting all arrogant and realizing you’re too good for me, so I have to underplay your cuteness,” I reply.

He grins and says, “due to the fact that you say things like that, I think any judge would confirm that you are, in fact, the cute one.”

“Nuh-uh,” I say shaking my head overzealously. “I don’t have the words, nor would I ever try to find them, to describe how adorable you are. I’m a blotch of paint on a blank piece of paper, and you’re the Sistine Chapel.”

“Right,” Gerard says skeptically. He’s got his torso leaning against the arm of the couch, with his legs on top of mine. He always seems to find the most awkward positions comfortable, and I mean that in both a dirty and innocent sense. Honestly though, I think it’s the cutest thing. He’s the cutest thing. I may joke about it, but he really is perfect in my eyes.

Living with him has been the best experience of my life as well. It’s kind of like every day is a sleepover with my best friend.

The sun is starting to set, and I’m vaguely aware of it from the corner of my eye where the window is open. Sometimes I worry about how often we keep the curtains drawn, because sometimes I am spontaneous. I mean that in both a dirty and innocent sense as well.

“I was thinking,” Gerard says, apropos of nothing.

“That’s a dangerous thing to do,” I say.

“Well, I was just thinking that you’re kind of perfect.”

I grin, even though that’s not exactly true, “Are you sure?”

“I’m pretty sure. But what I was thinking was that I should marry you,” Gerard says.

My heart stops a little bit, “What was that?”

“It’s a proposal that maybe you and I should get married.”

“That’s no way to do it,” I reply.

“Oh sorry,” Gerard says, and reaches into his pocket, “I did get a ring. No diamonds, but I thought it would suit you.”

He shows me the little box and it’s honestly like a fairytale or something. It’s just a little silver band with some etching on the side, but it’s nice. It’s simple, but I like it. It’s Gerard that’s holding it though and that’s what I find the most exciting. It could be a fucking elephant riding a pogo stick on tight rope, but it would mean absolutely nothing to me if it weren’t for Gerard.

“You’re being completely serious, aren’t you?” I ask.

“Well I love you,” he shrugs like it’s no big deal. 

“Well I love _you_ ,” I answer.

“So do you wanna marry me, maybe?”

“Only if you get on your knee,” I reply.

“The ground is dirty, it’s unsanitary,” Gerard says, and I know he’s joking, but he looks completely serious.

“Well then I won’t marry you,” I say.

“That’s unfortunate,” Gerard shrugs, and he closes the box.

He makes to put it back in his pocket with me staring at him incredulously, but I stop him and grab his hand, “that’s mine.”

“You want it?” Gerard asks cheekily.

I make my best puppy dog face, and Gerard just glares back at me. Then his face softens and he starts giggling.

“Why are you laughing at me?” I ask.

“Because you’re such a fucking dork!” Gerard answers.

“A fucking dork that you’re gonna marry,” I snarl, snatching the box from him.

“Oh am I?” Gerard says with a satirical tone, as he looks at me from behind his long lashes. It’s dark apart from the movie playing in front of us, which to be honest, I’ve completely forgotten about, as was the goal. Really, can you blame a guy when there’s a much more dazzling sight sitting right next to him? Gerard is pretty dashing if I do say so myself. He’s so pretty his face could cure blindness.

“Yes, because you love me,” I say defiantly.

“Yeah, okay,” Gerard shrugs, and grabs my body to pull me into him. Gerard buries his head in my neck, with his arms wrapped around my waist, and it’s so fucking perfect. Like, it’s indescribable. I don’t know how I got to be here. Things couldn’t turn out this perfectly if I’d found a djinn in a bottle. Or made a deal with a demon. My life is fucking amazing, and it’s because of Gerard.

Gerard smells like coffee and flowery shampoo. I quite like it, it’s very Gerard-esque. He’s also warm, and god he’s like a giant teddy bear. Everyone loves teddy bears.

“I do love you though,” Gerard hums, like he’s falling asleep, “quite a bit actually.”

“Is it because of my quick wit, and charming personality?” I ask.

“Yes,” he answers, sounding serious compared to my joking tone.

“God, you’re such a fucking dork,” I say rolling my eyes.

“Yeah, but I’m _you’re_ fucking dork.”

~*~*~*~

I wake up the next day, Monday morning, with a groan. The sun isn’t even up yet, and I look at the way the faint blue light spills from under the curtains. The room is almost completely dark with the only light coming from the alarm on the bedside table, and that little line of light from the window. I don’t want to get up, I’m too warm and comfortable where I am.

I sigh and roll over to look at the man lying next to me. Gerard is still asleep, eyes closed delicately. His hair is covering his ears and forehead, but I can see the frame of his face despite that. He looks so precious like this, and I don’t want to stop looking at him, because he really is so beautiful. His chest rises slowly with his rhythmic breathing, and it calms me to hear him. It calms me also to see him looking so carefree and peaceful.

I love that he has nothing to worry about though. No one is trying to kill him, he’s got a great job, Mikey is safe, and I’ll be here with him forever. Until he gets tired of me, I’ll stay here, but I don’t think he’s going to get tired of me. I don’t mean any arrogance when I say that I think he loves me. I just do. I really do. Really really. Maybe not as much as I love him, but he does love me a lot.

When I was a little younger I used to be such a romantic, though I never admitted that to anyone. I was though, reading Jane Austen novels, and hiding smiles at the end of Disney movies. There would always be that gut feeling I’d get in my stomach when I really believed the love connection on the screen. When I really believed that it was real, even if they were actors, I just really loved that. It was sort of like the feeling you get when you’re drinking hot chocolate on a rainy day. It’s just warm, and fills you with content, and I used to get that during cheesy kissing scenes. I say ‘used to’ because it’s not a rare thing anymore. That’s every minute of my life when I’m with Gerard. Every single second, it’s like I’m filled with liquid happiness. He makes my life colorful with colors I’ve yet to understand.

He’s my fiancé. He’s Gerard, and I love him. I don’t want to go into work this morning, but I know that everything is okay. Everything is okay because tomorrow and every day after that, I’m going to wake up to him right here with me. I finally have what I’ve wanted this whole time. I have him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a really long A/N, but given the circumstances I think it’s understandable. I just can’t believe how far I’ve come with this story. This started out as a side story. I wasn’t really going to give it that much, because I was writing “Sweet Home... Minnesota?” and I thought that would be my next big story, but then this thing came out of nowhere and look where it got me. I think that mostly what this story was for me, was just fun. It was fun to write. I’ve loved writing it, even when I was tired and didn’t really want to update, I still loved it. Every minute of this was a wild ride.
> 
> I love looking back and remembering how I started this. I posted the first chapter only minutes after writing it on pure adrenaline. Originally I called it “The Botched Assassination.” Originally it was only about fifteen chapters. Originally Gerard was never supposed to find out about Frank’s past. 
> 
> Banks was always the killer though, and I love looking back at all my slight little hints at it. I doubt a lot of you saw them, but if you go back, you’ll notice that I did put as many different conversations about the comic book villain Gerard had created as I could. I even said things like “the guy he’s based off of is so twisted” and stuff like that, but you only ever took any notice when I really threw it in your face with that dream.
> 
> It’s been a lot of fun writing this for you guys, and for myself, and I hope you liked it. This is probably going to be the best story I ever write, my legacy, but hopefully you’ll be seeing a lot from me. Thanks for reading, thanks for the comments, thanks for the kudos, thank you if you stayed with this story even after I deleted it, but thanks the most for your love and support.


End file.
